


The Tempest

by Englandwouldfall



Series: As you like it [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 91,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn’t think they had stuff they didn’t say to each other anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You get a lot of warnings for this one, because there's a lot of stuff about Dean's mental health here. This is more of an introduction chapter because, well, I take this seriously and wanted to be clear that in my head the Dean Winchester in this story has always really struggled and that I'm not just throwing this in here for the sake of the plot/generating angst. In my head, it's always been a problem, it just wasn't really broached by anyone until this story. So, there are bits from the other stories referred to/one bit is just straight up quoted so, yes, sorry for the repeats, but it's necessary (or at least it feels necessary to meeee). 
> 
> Also, featuring: Dean talking about a very not-okay dubiously consensual sexual experience that I vaguely referred to at various other points, but in more detail. Very bad coping mechanisms, depression, anxiety and v. bad head spaces. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry there is no pun in this title. I'm running out of Shakespeare plays and, anyway, I didn't really want one for this story.

_November, 2011_

The music is so goddamn loud, his ears are ringing, the air is thick with sweat and body heat, and Dean needed to get the fuck out of there like twenty minutes ago. There are a lot of good reasons why he hates parties like this, despite the alcohol content and the high chance of getting laid, because there’s _too many_ people. 

There's some guy chatting him up, which usually is pretty sweet (he's better at being chatted up by men than doing the chatting, apparently, even if he feels infinitely better in the driver’s seat), but there's an edge to his leer that's making him uncomfortable, and then he name drops Alistair and then it's not uncomfortable, it's intimidating, and his pulse is racing. The hand on his arm feels like a restraining device. This guy is _too close_ , too interested, too determined. 

Dean bolts. 

He gets groped as he's fighting his way through the crowd clogging up Charlie’s friends front room, possibly by accident, or maybe some drunk girl trying to teach men a lesson (one that Cas taught him ages ago, thanks), but he flinches anyway. It's an overreaction. Handsyness never really bothered him before. God, but Dean’s fucking broken. 

He can’t stop feeling his hands on him. Can't stop thinking about how impossible it seemed to make it stop. Can't shake the feeling that this idea that's he's stronger now is just a delusion. 

Then he's spilling outside, thank fuck, but his lungs are betraying him. He can't breathe. There's something closing his windpipe, he can't get the air into his lungs, can't think, can't breathe. Can't. Can't. Can't. 

"Dean," Cas' voice is steady, familiar and commanding enough that Dean isn't able to tune it out, even through his desperate breaths that just _aren't working_ and his fucked up brain and, shit, this is all Dean's fault. He's overreacting and screwed up and, god, what a fucking baby. "Dean," Cas says, still a command, "Breathe." 

It shouldn't be helpful (Dean's frigging trying, but each rattling breath seems to make it worse), but somehow his latest breath - slower, this time - has got some oxygen into his lungs. His breathing even outs slightly, then he's growingly aware of everything else. He's shaking, soaked in cold swear and, fuck, there's at least one actual tear on his face. Cas must have seen him heading for the exit signs and followed, but Dean hasn't seen him since he was swallowed by the party over an hour ago. 

"Fuck," Dean says, voice hoarse like he's spent hours screaming. 

One of Cas' hands, warm and steady, has landed on his lower back, but before his brain can process that this kind of touch, from Cas, is okay, he's jerked away from it. 

Cas takes a step away from him. 

God damn. Can't even deal with a casual touch from his best friend without freaking out. Fuck. Fuck. 

"Tell me what happened." 

"Nothing happened," Dean says, voice steadier now. He's cold, now, with his clothes damp with sweat and the fact that it's November. Early November, but the temperature’s beginning to drop, and it’s late. "Needed some air," 

"Do not presume to bullshit me, Dean," Cas says, unwavering, "You just -" 

“ – I know what just happened," Dean interrupts, still slightly shaky, "Can we just get out of here?" 

"I'll tell Charlie we're leaving." 

"Text her," Dean says, wiping his face and sucking in a deep breath. He's glad it's just Cas here to see him when he's such a fucking mess. His shame doesn't need any more witnesses. "We can walk." 

"Do you want my coat?" 

Two hours ago, they'd been bickering about the fact that Dean opted not to bother with a jacket. Cas, wrapped in his stupid trench coat, had objected and given him a damn lecture above the adverse effects of low body temperature, or something, and Dean was adamant that as Dorothy was giving them a lift, there was no need. They'd be inside at the party and Cas would be stuck holding his trench coat like an ass. "You look cold," 

It’d been the first time he’d felt normal in about a week. Cas seemed pretty surprised when Dean said he wanted to go, given he spent most of the last few days hiding in his room and only getting up to eat and piss, but he went along with it. Sent him a small smile that seemed to say ‘welcome back, Dean’ without acknowledging the fact that ever went anywhere, but… Yeah, he fucked it up. Couldn’t even make it a whole damn evening. 

"I'm pretty gross, Cas." 

"Dean, take the coat." 

He takes it. It feels weird slipping his arms through the trench coat's sleeves (it's not a great fit, but it just about works), even if the heady scent of Cas is easing over the dregs of his panic. He feels bizarrely like he's playing dress up. 

"Thanks," Dean mutters, and they walk home nearly silently. It's an okay silence, though, with Cas stoic and solid next to him. It helps a bit. 

* 

When they get back into their apartment, Dean falls into the sofa, elbows on knees, face in his hands. His legs are weaker than he thought they'd be. He spent the last quarter of a mile trying not to freak out. The gaping hole in his gut is threatening to swallow him again, but he doesn’t have that kind of luxury available. He’s not sure his grades can take a hit and he can’t skip anymore shifts off work after a week of calling in sick. For a start, he’s got no feasible way to pay rent, even if he could take time off work. He’s screwing himself over with this perpetual _brokenness_ but he can’t snap the fuck out of it. He’s _tried_ , but he’s exhausted all the damn time. 

Cas makes him herbal tea and toast whilst Dean stares at his hands. Dean's too wrung out to argue with him when Cas forces it on him and, anyway, the hot tea and the motion of chewing is kind of helping. It doesn’t keep his head clear, but at it least stops any of the dumb shit about how worthless he feels falling out of his mouth. 

"So," Dean says, after both are nearly gone, "I had a panic attack." 

The admission doesn't feel great. He'd rather not acknowledged it, but Cas isn't gonna let that slide. He knows Cas has noticed all the rest of it, too, and if the roles were reversed, Dean wouldn't let it go either. 

"Have you had one before?" Cas asks, all business and no judgement. Never mind that Dean ruined both their Saturday nights by frigging hyperventilating and then crying, Cas doesn't care. Cas cares about him, not the rest. It's weird. It feels a lot like expectation right now. Like Cas has undue faith in him. It doesn’t make it feel good as much as it makes him feel guilty for how much he wants to give up. 

"Not for... ages ago," Dean says, straightening up to stare at the opposite wall. They haven't really been in this apartment all that long, but it suits them. He likes it. Likes that he still gets to come home to his best friend after class, or whatever else. 

Cas has picked up one of the kitchen chairs and set it down in front of him. He's avoiding sitting on the sofa and getting in Dean's space, whilst stopping himself from looming above him. Cas is good at this probably only because he's good at Dean. Knows him like a book. 

"I would like to know what happened, Dean," Cas says, a different tact from before, but it doesn't sound much less like a command. "It will help to talk." Dean's not so sure about that, but then he just had a fucking panic attack over some blameless dude touching his arm, after a week of not getting out of bed and barely eating, so there's this chance he's not dealing very well. Shit. 

"The... The night I didn't come back," Dean says, taking another sip of his tea. There's been plenty of nights either one of them hasn't come back, actually, but there's only one in the last few months that Dean's been cagey about. Cas knows when he means. Probably thought it was about that before he even spoke. 

"Alistair," Dean say, and fuck, the name hurts. He's pretty sure Cas said Alistair was bad news, but then he was off hooking up with this girl, or at least Dean thought he was, so he thought _fuck it_. He was already having a bad day: argument with his Dad, argument with Sam about coming out, all the worst shitty parts of himself running round his head. It had been one of those days when he’d woken up feeling empty. Like his stomach had dropped out and there was just this bottomless pit there instead. 

And he thought, who even cares? Alistair implied he was cheap and easy, which was probably true, and, anyway, extra proof never hurt anyone. He knew what he was doing. His fight or flight instinct had kicked in at the guy's first drawl, he had that air of danger about him, but Dean pushed it back and let the guy offer him insults veiled as compliments. He fucking knew it was going to derail. He knew he couldn't handle it. He _wanted_ it to provide further evidence for all the crappy things he knew about himself. 

"He's, uh, not exactly the most charming guy, but I thought, I dunno." He does know and Cas probably does too, but Dean's not going to say 'I thought I deserved it' out loud. "He.... warned me he was pretty rough, didn't get the memo about the extent, though," Dean says, then there's phantom hands pinning him the mattress behind him, holding down his arms, a rough graze of stubble at his neck - too much, too fast, can't speak, can barely breathe, don't know _how to stop it._

"Dean," Cas says, coaxing, and the tentative touch to his knee is okay, this time, because Cas would never ever be able to touch him the way that Alistair did, he just cares too much. Dean isn't an object to Cas. "Is this okay?" 

"Fine," Dean says, and Cas starts rubbing circles into his knees with his thumb. It's probably too affectionate for the boundaries of strict friendship, but Dean doesn't have it in him to care. "Didn't know how to stop it, man," Dean says, "So I just... let it happen and I..." 

He'd hated himself so much. Hated himself for how he'd gotten to that point. Hadn't been able to dredge up a 'no' or a 'stop' because he was too fucking scared that it wouldn't make a difference. Just closed his eyes and tried not to think. 

"Worst part," Dean says, chest hammering, “I didn't leave. Stuck around. Next morning he..." Rolled out some insult, something bout him being cheap and inexperienced with men, then offered him a leer and suggested round two. "Fucked again before I left," Dean says, "just agreed. Just... just fucking said, sure dude, let's screw again, even after..." 

Dean swallows a big breath of air. 

"So there you go," Dean says, "That's what a fucked up piece of trash I am, now you know, you happy now Cas?" 

"No," Cas says, leaning forward, and then he has Cas cupping his face. Dean's heart sinks and speeds up at the same time, his gaze tracking the guy's eyes exactly. "This is not your fault," 

"Who else’s fault is it?" 

"Not yours," Cas says, thumb tracing his jaw. 

"Don't believe you," 

"I know," Cas says, "We're going to my bedroom and we're going to watch something with explosions or aliens," Cas says, evenly, "You're going to drink at least two glasses of water and sleep in my room tonight. Okay?" 

"Okay," Dean agrees, stomach settling slightly. 

"First, I would like to take a picture of you in my trench coat." 

"What?" 

"I... you look amusing." 

"I look amusing?" Dean asks, "Dude." 

It actually helps. He feels less emotionally flayed already. It makes everything seem smaller and easier. He doesn't know how Cas knew that would help, or even if he did, but now he's seeing past the foggy panic and almost smiling at Cas' mildly apologetic expression. 

"May I?" 

"Knock yourself out," Dean pauses at Cas' pinched confusion, rolls his eyes, and clarifies. "Go for it." 

Dean probably looks awful, but Cas snaps a picture and looks fucking delighted about it. Then Cas shepherds him into his bedroom and they watch a terrible film about aliens _and_ explosions, and Cas' near constant touch really really helps. He falls asleep with Cas arm pressed against his own, wakes up with his body curved towards Cas, without being jerked awake by nightmares. 

It strikes him then that Cas probably knew about them all along, through their thin walls. 

* 

Cas cooks breakfast in the morning and doesn't mention any of it, but he does slide his phone over for Dean to see the photo of himself in Cas' trench coat. He only looks pale and haggard if you look close, and he does look fucking ridiculous in the trench coat. 

Before the mornings over, he has Cas wearing his leather jacket and frowning into the lens of his camera phone. It's fucking hilarious, actually, and keeps him amused for a good few days. The laughter bubbles up from somewhere unexpected, somewhere he’d almost forgotten existed, and it’s warm and contented, and it slices through a little of the hopelessness that settled somewhere in his gut. None of it goes away, but it feels a little more manageable. 

*** 

_December, 2011_

Dean comes out to his father a few days after Christmas, because he’s high off the best Christmas they’ve had on years (having Cas there means that everyone’s on their best behaviour and all his family is a little more manageable). It doesn’t exactly go badly. John Winchester doesn’t say much of anything. He lets Dean talk and then he changes the subject without properly acknowledging it. It’s much better than Dean’s expecting, if he’s honest, and it lulls him into letting him feel secure, safe, strong. 

He finds the note John left saying he has a good lead in Nebraska on New Years’ Day. He doesn’t answer the damn phone for the next month, till the week Sam makes the drive from Texas to South Dakota with all his worldly belongings and moves in with Bobby. 

Dean manages the drive back to Lawrence on the second and heads straight for his room. He doesn’t say a word for the last hundred or so miles, just clings onto the steering wheel like it might stop him from drowning. It doesn’t. He’s ten feet under water and running out of oxygen fast. He doesn’t want Cas to see it. 

At some point after college starts back up, he’s drunk alone at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon. Cas gets back from class, lets himself into Dean’s room and looks at him, waiting, until Dean breaks the silence. Cas’ stare is a mixture of sad, pissed off and understanding, none of which Dean wants to deal with for one fucking minute. He wants all the vile, crappy shit in his head to be immune to Cas’ piercing looks. He doesn’t want Cas knowing what a screwed up, disgusting, worthless person he is. 

“What?”

“Do you want company?”

“No,” Dean says, reaching back for his headphones and refusing to meet his gaze. He feels empty, empty, empty.

*

He’s not sure Castiel ever forgives his father.

***

_March, 2011_

“We’re not ‘on your case’ Dean, we are simply concerned about your welfare because we are your friends. Which part of that sentiment are you finding difficult to understand?”

***

_September, 2013_

Cas walks in on Dean going at it with Pam, and for some reason the whole thing makes him feel like he’s been turned inside out and all of his internal organs are outside, vulnerable and starting to rot. Cas refuses to let him wallow in his room, persuades him to watch the Dr Sexy spin-off in his room and they both fall asleep in Castiel’s room.

The whole thing sparks its own chain reaction, but it also stops that familiar empty feeling from taking root. Cas saves him every other day and he doesn’t deserve it.

***

_February, 2014_

Their first real argument as a couple happens because Dean wakes up and suddenly everything his wrong. He can’t quite remember how happiness is supposed to feel like, but he knows down to his bones that he’s _supposed_ to feel it, because his life is pretty awesome. It’s just that right now everything is so _difficult_. It takes mental pep talks, dredging up energy from endless cups of coffee, forcing himself out of bed every fucking morning and still feeling like a failure on the other side. 

He wants space. He’s not sure if he wants it to fall apart, give up and sleep for decades, or to think his way back into processing everything right, but he knows he wants space and Cas just _doesn’t get it_. 

* 

“Cas, it’s just, when I get like this, because I’m a self-indulgent, destructive asshole, I do crap that will make me feel worse. So, I drink and then it's easier to remind myself that I'm basically all of my dad's shit bits wrapped up prettier. And I do dumb things that justify feeling washed out and hollow and just crap. Like, with Pam and Bela and... and Alistair. Man, I knew what I was getting into. I knew how much I'd feel like a fuck up after. And I... It's different with you, obviously. You've never made me feel shitty. Except maybe when we were sleeping together and not talking, but that wasn't about the sex, just the rest of it. And I'm not saying that I'd use you to make me believe all these crap stuff about myself, or even that that’s possible, but I'm saying I think I might try and I don't wanna do that. So I just...” 

“Want space,” 

“Yeah, dude. Obviously I'm here if you need me, but I'm just trying to get my head out of this rut and it's easier when I'm not second guessing every conversation we have. And maybe I’m doing the same damn thing by pushing you away, but that seems safer I guess.” 

“May I touch you?” 

“Yeah,” 

“Sorry ‘bout being such a fuck up.” 

“Dean, as you said, I know exactly who you are. And as I have said, multiple times, no one thinks you’re a fuck up as much as you think you’re a fuck up.” 

* 

Yeah, Dean thinks, but that’s probably because no one else gets to see the fucked up stuff carved on the inside of his skull. 

*** 

_March, 2015_

One of Dean’s first memories is his father leaving him for a three day job with the words ‘ _look after Sam.’_ The day he bails on visiting his brother because he hasn’t spent a weekend with his boyfriend for a month, the failure tastes so strong he nearly chokes on it. Castiel flies to San Francisco to see Gabriel. John Winchester shows up on his front door, talks about putting family first and the family business, and it feels like his insides have been put inside a trash compactor. 

Dean packs a bag and gives John Winchester the keys to the Impala. 

He knows he’s fucking up his whole goddamn life, but he’s not entirely sure he doesn’t deserve it. 

*** 

_May, 2015_

He hides how much he’s drinking and how difficult it is to get out of bed because he doesn’t want Cas to blame himself for this, too. They have enough to deal with with the whole fucking cheating thing, without Dean adding more angst into the mix. 

The truth is this feeling isn’t exactly new. It’s always waiting for him to fall back to. It pulls him back in. It fits him like a fucking glove. 

The only difference is this time he has a reason for how broken he feels. 

*** 

_October, 2017_

John Winchester dies in a head on collision in Bloomington, Indiana, and it takes three weeks for them to track Dean down and ask him to identify the body. 

Four weeks later, Dean smashes up the Impala with a crowbar. He doesn’t know how his hands end up bloody and bleeding in the process, but Cas finds him sat on the dented, fucked up hood thirty minutes later, perfectly still and staring at them. 

Cas wordlessly fixes him up, his lips an unhappy slant, his thumb gentle and loving as it washes the blood off his skin. Mutely, Dean’s aware that _Cas_ looking at him like he’s scared and worried and completely out of his depth should be enough to snap him out of his funk. Mostly, he’s too busy trying not to think too much about how much the pain helped. 

He doesn’t have the damn words to explain how _unfixable_ he feels and, anyway, he doesn’t want the fucking words. All he wants is to _stop_ feeling like this all the fucking time and, right now, he’s probably about as scared as Cas is about what he’d do to achieve that aim. 

*** 

_June, 2022_

The second time their adoption application is rejected he gets black out drunk on a week night whilst Cas wracks up an impressive number of missed calls on his cell. He doesn’t even feel guilty about it, because he feels too fucking guilty about every other damn thing to make room for another. Cas takes one look at him and seems to come to the decision that there’s no point getting mad at him, because he’s seen Dean like this enough times to know that Cas’ anger will sink through his skin, add to the layers and layers of the reasons why Dean Winchester is worthless and shitty. 

Cas shouldn’t have to deal with this. He shouldn’t have to deal with Dean still acting like a selfish, indulgent, worthless asshole after nine years of being together. Dean needs to pull his head out of his ass and stop being _consumed_ by his fucking feelings whenever they decide to strangle him, cut off his oxygen, stuff him back down the rabbit hole and leave him blinking at where the light used to be. 

Instead, Cas brings him coffee as Dean sleeps off his two day hangover in bed. 

On the third day, the cloud lifts. It's as unexpected as the feeling kidnapping him all over again, but Dean’s not about to question it when he feels okay again. It’s gone. He’s done. He’s got a great fucking life. They’ll submit another damn application and they’ll probably be rejected all over again, but they’ve got time. They’ve got everything. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, pausing in the doorway of their bedroom with a small, relieved smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It sparks up the usual feeling he gets when he sees Cas, which he hasn’t gotten for days. He was just flat. Half dead. 

“Hey,” Dean says, managing a grin. The expression feels oddly foreign, but he’s not quite faking it either. “You want pancakes? I’m feeling pancakes.” 

“That sounds counterproductive. I’d suggest eating them rather than feeling them.” 

“Smart ass,” Dean says, getting up – and it’s not even difficult today – and pausing to kiss Cas in the doorway. He's pretty sure it's the weekend, or else Cas would be at work by now. 

Cas follows him back downstairs to the kitchen and watches him crack eggs into a bowl for the pancakes. Cas has been worried about him, but Dean will make it up to him. He can fix this. He can remind Cas the reason Cas chained himself to this hot mess. 

“Dean,” Cas says, after a few more minutes of silence, his voice purposefully even. He’s holding his coffee close to his chest like it’s some kind of shield. He looks as tried as Dean’s felt for days. “Do you think we could talk about this?” 

The words, clearly, are a considered and thought out effort. 

Dean pauses for a split second before forcing himself back into motion. He knows what Cas means, but he doesn’t see the damn point. It won’t help anything. It won’t _change_ anything. It’s just something that happens to Dean, sometimes, and it’s something that he just has to keep dealing with. It’s fine. He’s fine, better than fine, actually, for most of the time. Hashing it out in conversation isn’t going to do a damn thing to change it. Anyway, he's not entirely sure that he can talk about any of it, but he is sure that he doesn't want to. 

“Pancakes ready,” Dean says, making a point to kiss Cas again as he passes over his plate. It’s meant to be reassuring, but he’s not sure he quite makes it, because Cas eats his pancakes with resignation stamped all over his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_August 2023_

He’d been fine, absolutely fucking everything-is-great fine, and then he wasn’t. 

He woke up on some innocuous Wednesday with that familiar, deadened hollow feeling that sometimes went away but never actually _properly_ left sitting in his gut and he just knew that it was going to be a bad day. Cas had to go away on some shitty trip for work and, yeah, Dean didn’t ever particularly like it when Cas was away for a few days (like, once, he’d thought it might be nice to have the house to himself, which had lasted for all of one evening before he’d called Sam to have someone to talk to whilst he cooked), but he was feeling crappy enough to know that four days alone in Lawrence was probably going to destroy him. Still, he kissed Cas goodbye, put a smile on at work and just drank too much when he got home. He could make it through four days without Cas without losing his damn mind. He’d done it before. Maybe not when he felt like his stomach was made of lead and his lungs were constricting, but he could do it. 

Except on Friday he just _couldn’t._. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face it for a damn second, because it was so hard, and Dean Winchester was such a needy, pathetic screw up that two days without his damn fiancé at home had him debilitated to the point where he just could not function. He managed to fake being okay enough to call in sick for work, text Cas saying that he had the flu and then hid in bed for the rest of the day. 

He wouldn’t have had to lie if Cas was there, because he’d have just known, but, hell, Dean’s never vocalised any of this crap to Cas in the first place. Cas would just look at him and _know_. It was more complicated over the phone and, anyway, then he’d be putting Cas in the shitty position of having to decide whether to tell Zachariah where to shove it and flying home early, or telling Dean he wasn’t able to that. He didn’t much feel like dealing with either of those options, because they were both shitty and completely Dean’s fault, which was why he’d opted for faking-it-till-he-made it when Cas was leaving in the first place. If he wasn’t such a screw-up, Cas wouldn’t have to deal with Dean not being able to function for four frigging days.

Around noon, he’d had the notion that he’d marathon watch Netflix, or something, but then he lost several hours watching the wall and Cas’ text messages roll in in-between meetings – dumb, sentimental shit about his fictional flu, reminding to keep his fluids up and quotes from Uriel that were theoretically funny, all of which made him feel like the _biggest_ asshole. He didn’t answer any of them, eventually sent a text to Benny telling him that it was a bad day (to which Benny responded to tell him to hang in there, brother, which was basically what he’d been doing his whole damn life) and even then he still felt like he was imposing and whining, given Benny was knee deep in his divorce and just out of rehab, but he was bordering on desperation and the latter things were probably the reasons why he could text him. Benny got it. Benny understood plenty about hurting. Not that Cas _didn’t_ get it, it was just that he couldn’t talk to him about it. Even when Cas was on the right side of the damn country.

So, after the better part of a decade, the status quo was still that Cas gave Dean his space whilst Dean wallowed and acted all self-indulgent and crappy, until something pulled him out of the rut again. It’d been the same since before they were together. Hell, he’d done the shitty wallowing before college, even, it was just there never used to be someone willing to put up with it. Cas does, because Cas is the best damn person, which is why Dean more or less turns his phone off for the whole weekend.

He gets up on Sunday, because Cas is due back that evening and Dean’s a piece of shit who hasn’t answered his phone, lied, didn’t go to work, barely ate and spent the majority of the previous day making progress through their alcohol collection. Cas isn’t even going to be mad about it, because he’s so goddamn _understanding_ about how fucking broken he is, and Dean can’t stand that. So he’s showed, dressed, and relocated to a shitty bar so he can really piss him off. He wants Cas to yell at him and storms off. He wants him to forgive him for it, too, but he needs Cas to hold him account for what a dick he is. He deserves it.

He wasn't expecting to run into Gordon Walker, though. 

He also can’t believe he recognises the guy, given he hasn’t seen him since frigging high school. And of course then Gordon asks how his family are and Dean has to say that John Winchester's skull was crushed by however many tonnes of van, and how he was five hundred miles away and using a fake ID so that it took them weeks to find out he was gone, really fucking gone. Then he reals off that Sam’s now a fully-fledged lawyer, even though all that school’s meant he more or less doesn’t have a personal life. And then there’s Dean, who’s life basically hasn’t changed since the year after he finished college, and he absolutely doesn’t want to talk about that. 

So when he gets a message from Cas, who's no doubt touched back down to earth, headed back to their new, new house and realised Dean's not there, he realises that he doesn't want Cas to be mad at him. He wants Cas to scoop him out of this crappy place, away from Gordon Walker, and take him home and wrap him up in the kind of affection and understanding the only Cas has ever managed.

Cas' text just reads _where are you?_ so he's definitely succeed on the pissing off Cas front. Dean's too goddamn wrung out and exhausted to do anything but reply with the truth.

Gordon's reminiscing about their time on the football team together at high school, like everything about high school didn't completely suck, and Dean doesn’t know how to do anything but plaster on a smile (and it’s remarkable how much it hurts to keep the corners of his lips turned upwards, but Gordon doesn’t care enough to notice).Then, all of a sudden, he has Cas' hand clamping over his shoulder and, oh yeah he's irritated, and fixing him with one of those weighty gazes that communicates a helluva lot of stuff silently - you're an imbecile, Dean Winchester, I know what's going on here, I am incredibly frustrated and I love you. Out loud, he just says. "You weren't at home."

"Yeah I'm… Sorry," Dean manages, because he is. He's really sorry he's the kind of worthless asshole who still pulls stuff like this. The kind of self-indulgent screw up that can't get his act together enough to function. Cas exhales.

"He your boyfriend, or something Winchester?" Gordon asks, and he thinks he's making some kind of joke, which doesn't exactly help Dean's mood.

"Fiancé," Castiel corrects, turning his gaze on Gordon. Cas is still terror inducing when he's angry and he’s wasting an opportunity to enjoy how hot that is when it’s directed at someone else (he’d enjoy it when it’s directed at him too, but that usually exacerbates arguments), but he hasn’t got the energy or the drive right now. He’s just _tired_.

Gordon is stumped, glancing between them for the joke, then looking for rings. He settles on the ring on chain around Dean's neck, and the gold band on Cas' hand. Then he just looks mildly constipated. It might have been funny, on another day.

"Knew Gordon in high school," Dean supplies, just to break some of the mounting tension.

"Didn't know you were... gay now."

Dean can't even be fucked to correct him. He just can't bring himself to care.

"Unfortunately for you, you missed your chance. He's spoken for." Castiel says, voice layered with thunder. It takes a few minutes for Gordon to work out what, exactly, Cas is implying. "Would you like a drink, Gordon?"

"Whiskey," Gordon says, narrowing his eyes at Cas.

Dean doesn't particularly appreciate being left alone with the guy, particularly when he raises an eyebrow at him and says, "So, uh... how long?"

"Been with Cas nearly ten years, give or take. Getting hitched in six weeks.”

"What did your old man think about that?"

It’s amazing how much, like, fourteen years can let you forget how much you fucking hate some people, and Dean’s having a flashback to why he didn’t come out in high school anyway. He’s also suddenly waist deep in daddy issues and the decidedly tense relationship between John and Castiel, and Gordon is a right douchebag for making him think about any of that. He doesn’t need it. He shouldn’t have to put up with. He especially doesn’t need it _today_ and, God, but he shouldn’t have left the house. He should have just _stayed in bed_ where at least there were very few opportunities to fuck everything else up.

"I'm gonna go help Cas with the drinks." Dean says, slapping his hands on the table and then heading towards the bar.

Usually when Cas’ gone away for a few days (because the flipside of the increased pay package is, apparently, bullshit conferences in hotels across the country, but they need the money and Dean isn’t exactly racking it in himself) or even if Cas is just in a good mood or being especially cute, Dean gets the same kinda feeling he gets when he's been starving and been waiting for food for ages, then he sees the triple bacon cheeseburger he ordered, only it's the best fucking cheeseburger ever, and everyone else got stuck with a shitty salad, and Dean gets to eat his burger and keep eating it forever. It's like excitement and need and affection and anticipation and fulfilment, and he gets that when he looks at Cas, except today he's just got a dull ache. Like he's not human enough to be hungry and it _sucks_. It eats at him even when he feels okay, because Cas deserves so much better than that.

Cas frowns at him. Dean really honestly thought he wanted Cas to be mad at him, but now he just wants a fucking hug. 

"Hey," Dean says, and Cas can read most of that in his voice, so he steps forward to kiss him. Just a quick, brief thing. Dean pretty much doesn't even respond to it, but it's a reminder that they're in this for the long haul. 

"Hello Dean," Cas returns, then orders drinks that none of them want, but Dean basically riled up his angry fiancé and set him on Gordon and now he has to sit through the consequences. "Your friend Gordon seems well informed about your life,"

"Cas, if you're gonna get mad about something, that's a dumb thing to pick."

"I dislike him,"

"You want me to get a pride tattoo on my forehead or something? Come on, Dude."

Cas still looks pissed, but then again he's probably projecting and as Dean's just decided that he doesn't really want Cas to yell at him, it's probably best to let Gordon take the brunt.

"Sorry," Dean says. Cas exhales and doesn't turn around. “I don’t have the flu.”

“We’ll talk about this later, Dean.” Castiel says. His voice isn’t clipped as much as very deliberate, and that gives credence to the theory that Cas worked this one out way before he got to the bar. God, Dean is the worst. 

They sit through fifteen minutes of awkward conversation, in which Castiel drags Gordon through a series of gruelling questions about his work and his personal life that all seem to lead to glaring character flaws. Like a lot of things, it’d have probably been immensely satisfying if it wasn’t happening to him today. Right now, he’s just vaguely aware that Cas is stubborn enough to drag this out till he feels like he’s won, and the semblance of functionality he managed to dredge up for this stupid, pointless piss-Cas-off-mission is crumbling, and Dean’s about thirty seconds away from totally losing it. He’s not sure what losing it is going to look like, but he wants to be far far away from Gordon Walker when it happens. 

Gordon makes a derogative comment about Dean not being the kind of man he thought he was which, honestly, is probably a good thing, and then he finally does them all a favour and leaves. It may feel like a victory for Cas, but Dean feels like he’s been dragged through several layers of hell whilst their pissing match was ongoing. God, but he’s exhausted. 

Back in Cas’ continental, Cas properly looks at him for the first time since the bar, and it _hurts_. 

“Why did you come to this establishment, Dean?” 

“Wanted you to get mad,” 

“Because?” Castiel asks, and Dean fucking hates it when Cas turns that voice on him. Makes him feel like he’s a kid all over again, and it brings out the side of him that wants to rebel against all kinds of authority. Even if Cas isn’t an authority, just his life partner which, yeah, gives him a right to get all authoritative and prissy when Dean’s being unreasonable about _their_ future and the life they’re building together. Besides, he doesn’t want to answer this question. It’s a fucking incendiary device, and they both know it. 

“Cause you’re too good to me when I’m like this,” Dean grates out, only because apparently Cas isn’t going to frigging drive until Dean’s given him an answer, and Dean’s drank too much to drive himself. Cas knows what ‘like this’ means, if the unhappy slant to his lips is anything to go by. Dean is such a goddamn waste of space, sometimes, and he has no idea why Cas puts up with it. 

He puts the car into gear and drives them home without speaking again. 

* 

"I want you to talk to someone about this," Cas says, when Dean's lying in bed staring and the ceiling and thinking about how Cas is not sleeping next to him and how that's all Dean's fault. Dean’s the asshole who lied about shit then went to a bar to purposefully piss him off, but Cas is no doubt more _concerned_ than _irritated_ , which is unduly difficult to digest. 

They didn’t talk much when they got back home. Cas repressed several sighs and frowned at the mess that is their kitchen, but mostly they just wordlessly skirted around each other until it was bed time, which is the usual drill. Usually, Cas is a little less pissed off, but then Dean’s not usually this bad. It’s been a while, anyway. 

Still, the admission is unexpected. It smacks of something he's been working up to say since they got home, and that kicks his sluggish brain into overdrive. 

"About what?" Dean asks, "How your pyjamas get lamer with age?" Never mind that the guy’s only wearing them because he knows Dean's weird about personal space when he's in a funk because, yeah, usually they sleep naked or in their underwear like a normal couple who doesn't have children. Cas knows all the lines he’s not supposed to cross when Dean feels like he’s being digested from the inside. And then they deal with it. Today isn’t exactly a fine example of the dealing with it, but then today is just shitty all round. 

"Dean," Cas says, frustrated, but laced with force calm. "You get depressed." Dean doesn't have a damn word to say about that because that is _way_ over the damn line. "It's been getting worse, and I want you to let someone help you." 

He can hear Cas breathing, feel him completely still next to him, waiting for Dean's reaction. 

"Dean," 

"No," Dean says. Then he's rolling out of bed and making for the door, because no. No, no, no. Cas doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, except for the fact that Cas knows every single damn thing about him, except Dean's _not depressed_. 

"Dean," Cas snaps, and he's definitely following him down the stairs and through to the kitchen, where Dean's pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "Listen to me," 

"Listen? This is a goddamn ambush, Cas, I don't have to listen to this for crap." 

"I am trying to help," 

"You do, man, but not like this." 

Cas closes his hand over the glass of whiskey and raises a challenging eyebrow. "Dean, I have lived with you for over a decade and loved you for most of that period, and I know you and have known you, biblically and otherwise, and I cannot continue to let you self-destruct without _ambushing you_ as you put it." 

"I am fine," 

"No one in this room believes that, Dean," Cas says, "You know it is not _fine_ to skip work because you _can't get out of bed_ and you know it is not _fine_ to drink because it makes you feel something. Ever since I have known you, you have had periods like this, of various degrees of severity, and you do not have to." 

“That’s off limits,” 

“No,” 

“No?” Dean repeats because, because that’s _not part of the script_. Cas never broaches the subject when he’s in the damn funk, he just lets Dean deal with it and facilitates however he can (usually just by existing), and then every once in a blue moon he’ll try and goad Dean into talking about it on the other side, but by then it’s done with it. There’s nothing left _to_ say. 

“Dean, you can’t push me out of this, like you push everyone else out.” Castiel snaps, but his voice has too much stuff packed in it to be comfortable. Normally when they argue, it’s just over dumb stuff like the dishes, the laundry and the fact that even now they have a goddamn _coat closet_ Cas still can’t hang his fucking coat up like a regular person. Their more serious arguments touch on the fact that Cas hates his stupid corporate job or Cas’ ongoing relationship with his brothers, or money, or Dean’s preoccupation with John Winchester’s wishes (less so since he died, where it’s been too sensitive of an issue to argue about). Its things they get heated about, but not exactly stuff they get _emotional_ about. 

Cas is emotional right now, and that’s scary. That’s less easily talked away with compromise, giving each other space and a little good old fashion angry sex. Emotional arguments have the power to shake their whole fucking relationship, and… yeah. He doesn’t like it. 

“Well, you’ve apparently been fucking dealing the last decade, Cas.” 

“And I _cannnot_ do it any longer,” Cas says and, oh shit, but he’s shaking. Dean hasn’t seen him like this, ever, pretty much. 

"So why keep mom about it in the first frigging place, huh?" 

"Because I am a coward," Cas says, "And I didn't think you would stick around to listen to me." 

"Just cause I ditched the conversation, don't mean I'm heading for the exits." 

"I know," Castiel says, "But you might push me out and shut down all avenues of communication about how you're struggling, and I am too selfish and proud to make peace with that." Cas' voice is shaking. He's getting emotional about this and Dean's an asshole, because that is exactly what his knee jerk reaction was: stop listening, escape, close himself off and shut the conversation down. And Cas hates that. Cas' expression crumbles and Dean absolutely cannot deal with that, because Cas is fucking _everything_ , and Dean’s the one who’s upset him. “I respect that this is your business, Dean, but you won’t let me in, and I can’t help, and you won’t even _acknowledge_ that it happens and I…” 

"You dumb fuck, Cas," Dean mutters, dragging him close by his stupid pyjama top, and wrapping his arms around him. Cas is a shuddering fucking mess against his chest, drawing in a sharp breath, before scrunching his fingers up in the material of Dean’s shirt. 

"I worry," 

"You think I don't know that?" Dean asks, pulling Cas closer against him. 

“I can’t pretend I’m not worried.” 

“Cas,” Dean mutters and Cas is still _shaking_ in his goddamn arms and it’s terrifying. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“The hell are you apologising for?” Dean asks, muttering it into his forehead. He’d known that this stuff bothered Cas, obviously. He’d have been fucking _blind_ not to know, but Dean’s not sure he realised how much. It’d be difficult to be mad at him right now, even if Dean currently had the capacity to feel anything but empty. 

"I'm handling this all wrong," 

“Can we,” Dean swallows, “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” 

“You won’t,” Cas says, “I _try_ Dean –” 

“ – I know,” Dean says, and his chest hurts, a different kind of hurt to how it’s hurt for the past few says. 

“ _Please_ ,” Cas says, and Dean’s absolutely fucking done for. Cas never _asks_ for a damn thing and, worse, he looks like he hates himself for doing it the second the words have left his lips. He’s still clinging to him, just barely stopped shaking and, yeah, he doesn’t get to keep something like this off limits if it does _this_ to Cas, even if it goes against every single fucking instinct and even if it’s like flaying off every damn layer of skin even to _think_ about talking about it. 

“Okay,” Dean says, throat so tight the words barely get out, “I mean, I’ll think about it. I promise, Cas. I’m not saying you’re right. Just, I’ll think about it.” 

"That's all I ask," 

"No it ain't, but that's okay, you're allowed to want things from me." Dean says, and he’s still completely empty, but _Cas_ like this has shook something loose in his brain, and now Cas’ bought it up he’s not sure they can just brush it back under the carpet, but he still can’t have this conversation right now. His head hurts. He wants to finish the whiskey he poured so fucking bad. 

Cas seems to deflate. 

“I missed you,” He says, still looking completely miserable and, oh yeah, Dean didn’t answer his texts or his calls or any of it, and it wasn’t like Dean was the only one alone. Dean’s _such_ a selfish fucking asshole and he really, really can’t stand himself. 

"Gonna carry your ass to back to bed now." Dean says, because whiskey isn’t an option, and because Cas needs a shit tone of reassurance right now. Grabbing a handful of Cas thighs to hoist him up probably isn't the most graceful move Dean has in his arsenal, but it works and has Cas smiling, at least a little bit. He gets help in the form of Cas wrapping his legs around his waist, but it’s still ungainly and just barely physically possible. Cas isn’t exactly light, their stairs are a bitch and Dean still feels hollow and a bit shitty, but they get there. 

And then Dean ceremoniously collapses back into their bed, probably less than half an hour after they left it in the first place, only Cas still has his legs wrapped round Dean's hips and is now fully sprawled on top of him. Plus, they’ve opened a wound up and everything is raw and serious and a little bit scary. The big ‘they’ feels fragile and that hasn’t happened for years and the fact that Dean’s decidedly not okay is out in the open and, right this second, Cas isn’t okay either. 

Cas is being all weird and Cas-like, thumbs tracing Dean's cheekbones all serious and wide eyed, pressing soft kisses to Dean's bottom lip like he doesn't really believe Dean is real. He doesn't even blink. Dean hasn’t seen him like this since Cas finally told him how Dean walking out a year into their relationship made him feel and, apparently, he’s been holding this in for years. Dean didn’t think they had stuff they didn’t say to each other anymore. He didn’t think this stuff counted. He didn’t want to think about how much power it had. 

"Sorry," Dean says, tipping them both onto their sides, "for being such a fucking mess you didn't think you could talk to me. And worrying you and not answering your texts and going out and not telling Gordon 'bout my bad ass fiancé before he sat down, and freaking out back there, and, I dunno, putting on like four pounds of angst weight because pizza." 

"Where are these four pounds?" Cas says, hands dipping down to his stomach. He’s putting himself back together, now. It’s an act, but it’s also a relief; Cas being vulnerable and emotional right now is too hard to deal with, which just adds another reason why Dean is so fucking awful, anyway. "I want to introduce myself to them." 

"Dude," Dean says, squirming slightly under Cas' touch. 

"I personally hope they've set up shop on your ass," Cas says, then he has hands sliding down the back of his pants because, obviously, Cas is that kind of life partner. 

"You never put on any weight," Dean complains, as Cas sets about groping him thoroughly. "I'm Ass -tiel, and I never do any exercise but I still look like an Olympic runner." 

"Your impression of me is uncanny," Cas smiles, pulling back, and rolling away from him. 

"Hey," Dean says, "Who says you were finished? 

"You... usually want space when..." Cas trails off, tilting his head at him. 

"Yeah, well, today I want my six foot of warm future husband," Dean says, "Huh, that's still fucking weird." 

"You don't have to make yourself uncomfortable because I got upset, Dean,” Cas says, because of course Cas is fully prepared to devalue his own feelings when it comes to this relationship, which is probably Dean’s fault for making this all about him in the first place, but that’s a dangerous line of thought and he’s _trying_ to keep his pity party in check. 

"Cas, it fucking shakes me when you're 'upset', so just don't second guess me wanting to be close to you." 

"Oh," Cas says. 

"Yeah, oh," Dean says, pulling Cas back towards him. "And also, I love you." 

"Never apologise for how you feel Dean," Cas says, "Or angst weight. Or freaking out. Or my insecurities." 

"Yeah but I exacerbate them and stuff," Dean mutters into Cas' neck. "Make you think I ain’t crazy on you just cause I got my own issues," 

"When I'm thinking clearly, I am fully aware that you're 'crazy on me', but anyone can convince themselves of anything if they think too much. And also, I love you too." 

"Good," Dean says, "As you were, soldier." 

"And I have loved you for such a long time I am sure it is part of my identity." Dean just blinks at that, because Cas pulls this stuff sometimes and, really, what are you supposed say? "Goodnight, Dean." 

"Yeah, okay,” Dean says, as Cas snuggles back against him in that way that Cas does which makes him feel like the goddamn batman. Usually, anyway. For now he feels kinda flat, but Cas hasn't really left him enough space to feel empty. 

He doesn’t exactly sleep well, but at least Cas hanging onto him like this makes it difficult to check out completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently in bed with a cold that I'm going to label the flu because I feel like crap and this week I'm due to pack up and move ready to start adulthood (read: a real job) on Monday. But I can't take even paracetamol without throwing up right now, so I'm just going to stay right here in bed and write and hope for some kind of packing miracle. So, if there's a bunch of mistakes -- it's probably because I'm barely concious. Harrah.
> 
> Next chapter features: lots and lots of talking


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes up feeling groggy, heavy and just plain sad, which means Cas’s return wasn’t the cure-all he’d sort of been hoping it would be. Even though he knew that would be the case, it still frigging sucks. This was never about Cas being away, it’s about Dean being fucked up and messed up, which apparently Cas thinks he is too. He wants him to go frigging see someone about it, which sounds a hell of a like a euphemism for therapy. Fuck and _fuck_. 

Cas is sat up, legs crossed in one of his yoga-esque expression, fingers running through Dean’s hair with one hand, whilst the other has his cell wedged under his ear. “Yes,” Cas says, “Castiel, Dean’s fiancé. He hasn’t recovered from his flu yet. Yes, I will pass on the message. Thank you.” 

Dean shuts his eyes because he doesn’t know that he can deal with Cas yet and there’s a chance Cas doesn’t know he’s awake. At least he doesn’t have to go into work today, because Cas is the best fiancé on the planet, holy shit. 

There’s a pause, then Dean can hear Cas’ dialling again, because the guy always has his phone turned up way too loud. 

“Hello Zachariah,” Cas says, in a voice forcefully deeper than normal. “I’ve caught Dean’s flu,” He deadpans, then coughs. It's not particularly convincing, mostly cause Dean knows how whiny Cas gets when he's genuinely ill, but he still vaguely appreciates the sentiment. Especially because it means that Cas talks about him enough when he isn’t there that his boss is aware of his fictional flu in the first place and now Dean’s trying to imagine how _that_ went down; either from Zachariah giving him shit for staring at his cell, or maybe him telling Samandriel or Uriel that he was worried about him when Zachariah was in earshot. “I will try, Zachariah. Yes… Wednesday latest, and, yes, I will finish the report at home and email it to you. By tonight. Fine. Goodbye.” 

“He rides your ass so hard it might actually qualify as cheating,” 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and his voice is still off, and then Dean cracks open his eyes to find him looking dejected and more than a little miserable and that’s _Dean’s fault_. “I’m sorry about yesterday.” 

“Yesterday sucked,” Dean agrees. He’d like that to be the end of the conversation, but he very much doubts that they can; the hell’s gate’s open now, so now they’ve gotta deal with whatever the hell comes out of it. “And now you’re playing hooky. Knew I was good influence on you.” 

“We need to talk,” 

“Aannd you ruined it,” Dean says, as Cas de-yogas and slips back under the covers. Dean _needs_ this more than he can really express, so he lets himself curl into the guy’s side and breathe in the usual Cas-scent. Even if Cas thinks he’s fucking crazy, there’s no escaping fact that Cas loves him. “I didn’t mean to ambush you, Dean,” Cas says, lips pulled into a frown, “I didn’t handle anything about yesterday the way I wanted to.” 

“That’s what happens when you repress something for a frigging decade,” Dean says, “And then you’re jet lagged, worried cause I hadn’t been answering your texts, pissed cause I went to a bar and frustrated cause you figured I’d pretend none of this happened in a weeks’ time? Yeah, that’s gonna end well.” 

“Dean,” 

“Still don’t get why you’ve been sitting on this, Cas.” 

“Don’t you?” 

“No, I don’t,” Dean says, “And I feel like complete shit for it, so if you could run it by me again.” 

“I didn’t bring any of this up because I want to make you feel more guilty, Dean,” Cas says, his frown increasing, “I don’t want that. I only want –“ 

“- me to be happy?” Dean suggests, because he’s heard it a thousand fucking times, “Well it ain’t that simple, but that doesn’t mean that I’m…” 

“You know you get depressed, Dean, we both know that. You just don’t call it that.” 

“Do I?” 

“This isn’t supposed to be an argument,” Cas says, “You promised you’d consider talking,” 

“I’m fucking talking,” Dean snaps, then sucks in a breath, “Cas, this is really hard, okay? This is _really_ hard. This is so close to the bone, I can’t even…” 

“I know,” Cas frowns, “I’m sorry for asking this from you –” 

“Cas, you can ask anything from me, okay? We’re getting married in six weeks. I didn’t know you _needed_ this from me, but you do, and that’s fine. I just… it’s hard.” Dean says, even though he’s not sure he’d really gotten to that place in his head yet, but now he’s said it out loud of course it’s true. He doesn’t _get_ to make things off-limits, anymore, not when it’s important to Cas. Not when they’re in this together till the bitter end. 

“Perhaps I should start the talking,” Cas says, propping himself up on an elbow. Dean mirrors the motion because otherwise Cas is talking down at him and he doesn’t want that right now. “Would that help?” 

“This is gonna feel like pulling my damn teeth out any way of doing it,” Dean says, swallowing, “but sure, man, knock yourself out.” 

“I love you,” 

“I know, okay?” Dean snaps, “I _know_.” 

“I’m not trying to push,” 

“Cas, pushing is exactly what you’re doing, okay? I get that you’re trying to be sensitive about this and shit, but let’s call a spade a spade. You’re pushing. Fine. I push you all the time. It’s allowed,” Dean says, and he’s _trying_ not to snap like some frigging wounded animal, but that’s his defence mechanisms kicking into gear and not liking this _talk it out_ plan one jot. Cas expression keeps faltering, though, and Dean wants to make this better, so he reaches out to rub a thumb over the crease of Cas’ elbow. He can just about manage reassuring in touch, even if his fucking voice box is out of control. Cas smiles at him. It's a good effort. 

“Would you like coffee?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and resists the urge to ask for extra Irish, because that’s just going to make Cas frown and worry and, fucking damnit, he doesn’t want Cas _worried_ about him. 

Cas kisses his forehead, which makes him want to squirm away slightly but he just bucks up and deals with it, because sometimes the physical affection shit Cas bestows on him is for Castiel’s benefit, not for Dean’s. Then he gets up and, presumably, heads down to the kitchen. 

Course, because Dean is a total jackass he falls asleep before Cas re-enters with coffee. 

* 

“I thought we were gonna talk,” Dean says, when he’s finally found the motivation to wake, stay awake and get out of bed and found Cas running a goddamn bath. The number of times Dean’s deeply regretting buying a house with a bath is a lot higher than could have been predicted, because apparently Castiel is a long bath kinda guy. Like, a shut himself in the bathroom for hours at a time kinda guy. Cas says Dean only gets pissed about it because he’s needy which, yeah, Cas might have a point, but it’s also a total waste of water and total waste of weekend time when they could be screwing, or hanging out or something. Cas likes being alone sometimes, though, a lot more than Dean ever has. 

“You were asleep,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, leaning against the sink and watching Cas test the water with his index finger. “Thought you cared about wastage and stuff, man. This ain’t exactly economical water usage.” 

“By all means, share the water if you’re worried about the environment,” Castiel says, forehead scrunched slightly with tension. Dean knows him well enough to hazard a guess that he spent the rest of Dean’s lie in overthinking, worrying and getting upset (and tidying, actually, if Dean’s wandering around the house to find him was anything to go by which, wow, what a fucking miracle), but outwardly he just comes across as slightly prickly. “It might help you relax.” 

“Relax,” Dean repeats. 

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is pained. Dude probably needs to relax if the tension in his shoulders is anything to go by, and Dean probably isn’t exactly helping. Cas is playing hooky in order to talk, though, so they should probably have the damn conversation at some point. 

“Hey, you relax away, Cas,” 

“I’m going to get a beer,” Castiel says. 

Dean’s not exactly a bath person but, also, right now it sounds vaguely tempting. He has less than a minute before Cas is back with beer (and, as far as Dean’s concerned, if you’re in the bath long enough to have an alcoholic beverage then you’ve been stewing in your own juices too long, but each to their own) and, well… there’s a chance it might make Cas smile and he really _really_ wants to make Cas smile. So, whatever, Dean kicks off the sweats he just put on and then pauses. 

Cas is coming back up the stairs and he’s still feeling vulnerable and a little shitty, so he leaves on his boxers and t-shirt and gets in the goddamn bath. It’s all kinds of dumb that he doesn’t much feel like being naked in front of Cas right now, given how many times Cas has seen it all (touched it all, kissed it all; Cas has well and truly been up in his business in pretty much every way possible), but that’s just the way it is. It’s a total crazy move, too, but equally Cas won’t give a shit. That’s one of his boundaries he can count on Cas to respect forever. 

The water is a good temperature; hot, but a degree off scalding. 

“That’s not exactly what I meant by sharing water,” Castiel says, when he re-enters, but he is _smiling_. One of those smiles that makes his eyes crinkle. Dean fucking thirsts for those smiles like they’re water in the desert and even though the usual blossoming warmth in his chest is absent, he feels a little less like he’s the worst human on the planet. 

“Should’ve been more specific,” Dean shrugs, t-shirt sticking to his skin. “Hey, is one of those beers for me?” 

“Of course,” 

“Heh,” Dean says, managing an almost smile, even though he doesn’t quite feel it. “My fiancé is the shit,” 

“I hope you don’t expect me to sacrifice my bath just because you happen to be in it,” 

“Dude, get in whilst it’s still hot,” 

“I don’t wish to be underdressed,” Cas says, shedding his trousers but leaving on his shirt and boxers too, before climbing in. The bath is not exactly meant for two grown ass men and Dean’s not sure about Cas’ entry method, but they just about manage it. Cas’ white shirt does a much shittier job of preserving his modesty than Dean’s tee, what with the material see through and sticking to the skin as soon as he’s submerged. Not that Dean’s complaining, because Cas could have fallen right out of a damn porno right now. He might not have much in the way of a sex drive right now, but he still looks in-fucking-credible. 

“You gonna wallow over there by the tap end or just get over here?” Dean asks, because if they’re doing this couple bath-time shit (which, okay, Dean probably initiated), they might as well do the damn thing properly. 

Cas surges forward to kiss him. 

“Watch the junk, dude,” Dean says, because he’s worried about the current location of Cas’ knee, and Cas is significantly less graceful when manoeuvring round a full bath tub in wet clothing. Frankly, this whole thing is completely ridiculous, but then their relationship has always had an aspect of that in it. 

“I’m very attached to your junk, Dean,” Cas says, cupping Dean’s face with his wet hands and kissing him again. 

“And they say romance is dead,” 

“They must not have met us,” Cast deadpans back, then another kiss, “We’ve never done this before,” 

“Probably cause it produces a lot of unnecessary laundry and cause it’s fucking weird,” Dean says, then he gets pulled into making out with Cas in the goddamn bath, in a nice, almost non-sexual touching base kind of way. He gets to kiss Cas’ skin at the edges of his sodden collar and run his hands over his skin and it washes away some of the shitty feeling that settled in his gut a good week ago. “Hey there, hotstuff.” 

"For someone who's purportedly not a bath person, you seem to be enjoying yourself." Cas says, letting Dean loop his arms around him. It’s weird with the water and the wet clothes but… well, it works, just about. 

"Shush, dude, you're interrupting my relaxing," Dean says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, just above his wet collar. "You even own clothes that aren't shirts anymore?" 

"Dean," Cas says, and that's the signpost that they're heading back into serious conversation territory. 

“Sorry I fell asleep,” Dean says, “And I missed you too. Dunno if I said that last night.” 

“Would this have happened if I hadn’t been at the conference?” Cas asks and, fuck, but that’s a difficult question. Dean must be actually physically squirming, because Cas sighs and adds, “I need to know, Dean.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he feels vaguely cold despite the hot water, “I wouldn’t have lied about it, maybe. It didn’t _help_ but, yeah, pretty sure it was gonna happen.” 

“What do you mean by it?” Cas says, then shifts around in the stupid bath to look at him properly. Dean shouldn’t have gotten in the stupid bath, because he’s not ready to have this conversation, especially not right this second when he’s too close to naked and too vulnerable. “Dean, my belief is that _it_ refers to periods of depression, which you’ve had at various points since before I knew you. If that’s not how you view your situation I need to know how you _do_ view it.” 

“I don’t,” Dean says, then swallows, “I don’t view it as anything. It’s just me being shitty and screwed up and a crappy partner and a crappy human. I just… it’s just _me_.” 

“I know you,” Cas frowns, “And you’re a very happy person, Dean.” 

“I’m a fuck up,” 

“You’re wonderful,” Cas says, which has Dean exhaling and trying to break eye contact, and then he has Cas’ wet hands cupping his face and keeping him looking. “I mean it, Dean. You are loyal and funny and charming. No one could make me feel as loved as you do, Dean. Do I need to go on?” 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” 

“You’re remarkable,” Cas says and Dean can’t deal with this right now, so he attempts a distraction tactic by running his wet hands through Cas’ hair, because it’s still more or less dry and Cas’ bed head looks great wet. _Cas_ looks great. Cas _is_ great, always. “You’re a miracle, Dean.” 

“This is the gayest thing we’ve ever done, for the record,” Dean deflects. 

"Dean, we have had enthusiastic anal sex in a variety of different places across America. I highly doubt this is most 'gay' we've been." 

"You say that," Dean says, "But that's frigging bubble bath." 

“I can’t _make_ you see yourself how I see you,” Cas says, back on topic, worst fucking luck, “But I also cannot allow you to torture yourself over how you’re feeling when this is _not your fault_.” 

“Then whose fault is it supposed to be?” 

“It’s not anyone’s fault, Dean, it just happens.” 

“It doesn’t happen to you,” Dean throws back, “You’re a perfectly functioning human being, Cas, and I’m just –” 

“– perfect,” 

“Stop it,” Dean says, swallowing, “Don’t _say_ shit like that to me. I am such an asshole to you, Cas, even when I don’t feel like I’ve been gutted, and if you had any sense you’d…” 

“I’d what?” Cas asks, “Leave?” 

“Why are you evening trying?” 

“You are more than worth it, Dean,” Cas says, then frowns a little deeper, “I don’t think allowing your low opinion of yourself to take the floor is helping, because there’s nothing I can do or say that will convince you.” 

“So you want me to go talk to someone else about the fact that I think I suck? And they’re going to do a better job of convincing me than you are? I don’t buy into that for a hot second.” 

“Speaking of sucking,” Cas says, and _that_ sounds like a conversation diversion, which is a fucking relief, because Dean’s two seconds away from bailing on this whole conversation (and the bath) and trying to figure out a way to pretend that none of this is happening, which would probably mean whiskey. “Do you think it’s physically possible to suck someone off underwater?” 

“No,” Dean says, straight off, “That sounds like the recipe for an awkward trip to the emergency room, or a fast track ticket to the Darwin Awards.” 

“Even in a bathtub?” 

“Dude, I ain’t explaining your awkward death to Sam.” 

“There are worst ways to die,” 

“Here likes Castiel,” Dean snorts, “He drowned whilst sucking dick.” Cas reaches forward to kiss him, “Anyway, think of the sexy time bodily fluids _in_ the bath water. Gross, man.” 

“We don’t have to resolve this today,” Cas says, deep and low just under his ear, “I just want to start a dialogue about it.” 

“I get it,” Dean mutters back, running his hand through Cas’ now damp bed head, just because he likes it. “How long before the water gets cold and we wrinkle up like prunes?” 

“I’m sure you’re ‘sweet ass’ will keep the water hot,” 

“Still a dork,” Dean smiles, and it doesn’t hurt as much as it did yesterday, and Cas beams back at him and tucks his hands in the space between his torso and his arms. It gets cold much quicker than expected, but then again they’ve already been talking quite a while. In the end, they get out and Dean unbuttons Cas’ shirt, Dean lets Cas pull his t-shirt off his head with a cheesy line, then they dick around getting dry and dressed. Everything is backwards, but it’s okay. It’s almost good. 

* 

At some point during their skip day, in which they marathon watch the latest season of Dr Sexy (which, for the record, got embarrassingly bad around series 7, and is now a contender for the worst show on TV. The spin-off is now weirdly good), Dean realises he’s fucking starving. He woke up for the second time after Cas had already eaten lunch and he’s not the best at eating when he’s feeling shitty. He goes from not caring enough to eat to eating a three-person sized pizza without tasting any of it, just for something that might make him feel a little less… empty and for some kind of energy boost.

Cas defrosts something that actually had vegetables in and they eat on the sofa, because sometimes their table with four chairs feels kinda empty with just the two of them, and because it gives them excuse to press up against each other and touch like they’re frigging teenagers, not like they’ve been together for the better part of a decade. 

“We should’ve probably started from the beginning,” Dean says, after he’s returning from doing the dishes (and, hey, he performed an honest to god household task; it probably shouldn’t count as a victory, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t one) and Cas is still curled up on the sofa. Cas still looks like he’s tired which, yeah, between the jet lag and the shitty business trip and their minor relationship crisis, isn’t surprising. Cas looks up at him. “How long you been thinking I'm, you know?” 

"Depressed," Cas says, raising an eyebrow. "Six weeks into college, you skipped three days of classes. I thought you were being disinterested and apathetic, and then I heard you on the phone to your brother. You weren't particularly enjoying college anyway, because you were missing Sam, so usually you sounded more enthused whilst on the phone. You were on the phone for a few minutes, when you told him you had social plans, hung up, and went back to bed." 

Dean sits down and lets Cas take his hands hostage, because the physical contact is grounding and just _necessary_. He can’t be that fucking awful if Cas still wants to literally hold his damn hands whilst they talk about this, because Cas has pretty good taste. Dean’s his blind spot, sure, but it can’t be _that_ big of a blind spot. 

"Cas, that was like way over a decade ago, man, how the hell you remember all that? Ringing no bells over here,” Dean says, resting his stupid, messed up head against the back of their sofa. 

"Because I saw you Dean, and that was important to me. Obviously, I couldn’t speak to you about it then. We barely knew each other and, as far as I knew, you could have some kind of professional help in place.” 

“Okay, time out a second. If we could get through this whole conversation without the words ‘professional help’ being thrown around, that would be just super,” Dean says, which gets Cas looking at him seriously for a few seconds before nodding. He is _trying_. They’re just going to have to redraw his boundaries at least a dozen times before he can deal with that half of conversation. They’re talking. He’s talking. He’s not in bed refusing to acknowledge any of this is happening, which is where he wants to be. 

“Okay,” Cas frowns, “Sophomore year was…” 

“A massive fucking disaster?” 

“A confirmation that depression was something you struggled with,” Cas says, which is diplomatic to say the least, “By that point, I was aware you weren’t talking about it to anyone and I _tried_ to be there, Dean, but I couldn’t push, because as much as we were friends, it wasn’t my right to do so. You needed me in some capacity and I was in love with you and it was complicated, so I respected the boundaries you set.” 

“I needed you in most capacities, dude,” Dean says, “I dunno how I’d have dealt with Alistair or Dad taking off if you weren’t there, let alone both within a few months of each other.” 

“You drank a lot,” 

“You and Charlie had my ass for that,” 

“We were worried,” Cas says, tracing the bones in his hands with his thumb, still looking at him. He knows Cas had been worried, Charlie too, which is probably why he let them drag him out of his rut in the first place. He didn’t want them wasting their thoughts on it (that, and he was fucking terrified of turning into his father). At the time he’d known that it was borderline a problem. He _had_ , it was just… a shitty time. He figured it was almost understandable. “The following years were better, but I was still just your best friend, and then we were on the edge of being together and I couldn’t have pushed then without you running in the opposite direction, which was the exact opposite of what I wanted. Then we were in a relationship and I knew I wanted to discuss it with you at some point.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, Dean, I expect more emotional honesty from a relationship than I do from a friendship,” Cas says, “We were fairly open with each other in the first instance, but that was definitely something we were working on in the early days.” 

“That and the awesome sex,” Dean says, which has Cas smiling at him again, which is good. “With you so far.” 

“I felt that pushing past your boundaries whilst our relationship was still fairly new was too much change for a short period of time, especially when we began to… struggle,” Cas says which, again, is pretty frigging diplomatic. Cas is like the king of phrasing all of this so it doesn’t sound like it’s Dean’s fault. Either that, or he honestly doesn’t believe it _is_ Dean’s fault, and that’s a real kick in the teeth.

“Then I left,” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “And then I had no right to ask you because of what I’d done.” 

“That’s not…” 

“Dean, I’m just telling you how I perceived it,” Cas say, “I’m not saying I was correct. I have let you down, repeatedly, by being too cowardly to address it.” Dean doesn’t particularly think it’s Cas’ frigging responsibility to keep an eye on Dean’s mental health whatsoever, but he knows that Cas would just shut that whole avenue down straight off so there’s no point bringing it up. “I think I would have bought it up after we got engaged, but then you got the phone call about your father the same week. I was… I was scared, Dean, but I couldn’t talk to you because it was my fault your relationship with your father was strained in the years before he died,” 

“Hold the phone,” Dean says, “What?” 

“That’s not important right now,” Cas says, and that frigging hand-fondling business that Cas has been engaging in stops, because then Castiel is just completely still. 

“The hell it isn’t,” Dean says, “Park the rest for a minute. _Why_ would you think that’s your fault?” 

“Dean, that’s not the topic of this conversation, I don’t want to _park_ it.” 

“We’ll take it out for another three hundred fucking joy rides, no doubt, but I ain’t letting this slide. Cas, with all respect intended, my relationship with my father doesn’t have anything to do with my relationship with you. They’re _entirely_ separate things.” 

“Your relationship with your father had a profound effect on your life, Dean, as does your relationship with me, it’s naïve to think they didn’t impact on each other,” Cas says, looking more tired than ever, “Your father was by no means a bad person, but he was a bad father, and he didn’t like or respect our relationship so he _stayed away_. Had I not been in the picture or been slightly less like myself, he would have been around more.” 

“That’s bullcrap,” Dean says, threading his fingers through Cas’ instead, “He might have used you as an excuse to justify staying away to himself, but he’d have just found another one. I don’t see it like that. I don’t see it like that for a frigging second.” 

“I doubt you’d still want me around if you did see it that way,” Cas says, not looking at him and, yeah, Dean’s not having that. He’s told Cas a hundred times over that he’d pick Cas over his father if John Winchester made him choose (because Cas _never would_ ) and maybe he screwed the pooch on that at least once, but he’d thought he’d gotten through to the guy in the end. He thought Cas knew.

“No, fuck that,” Dean says, “I _am_ the actual reason you haven’t seen your Mom for two years, and you don’t care. Why would I?”

“Family’s important to you,”

“You are my damn family, so shut up. You’re my _family_ , Cas, and that means we’re stuck with each other forever, way I see it, so just… don’t think like that,” 

“Okay, Dean, I will _try_ and reroute my thought processes because you told me too,” Cas says, rolling his eyes, but holding onto his damn hand, tightly. “And we’re not technically family yet.”

“That’s exactly what you’re asking me to do. Reroute my damn thought processes because you don’t like them,” Dean says, “And your technicality clause expires soon.”

“Five weeks and five days.”

“Fucking hell,” 

“Gabriel downloaded a wedding countdown onto my phone,” Cas shrugs, “He thought it was amusing.”

“I can’t believe I’ve let you think that for years,” Dean says, “That you’d think _any_ of that was true for a fucking second. Cas, you’ve gotta know how much I love you. I know I’m kind of a dick but –“

“ _How_ are you still managing to make this your fault?” Cas all but snaps, then seems to check himself and levels his voice. “I told you that you do not have to apologies for my insecurities, Dean, and I meant it. If I held myself account for every awful thing you thought about yourself, I doubt I’d be able to look you in the eye.”

“That’s different,”

“They can’t both be your fault,” Cas says, “Do you see, at least on an academic level, how illogical that is?”

“Moving on,” Dean says, which has Cas _look_ right through him again, “Moving on, Cas.”

“Fine,” Cas says, because Cas is the best, “Rightly or wrongly, I didn’t feel I could encroach on your grief, both because I felt partially responsible and because I wasn’t _qualified_ to do so. I was deeply worried, Dean, but I let you muddle through alone.”

“That was six years ago, Cas,” Dean says, headache pounding in the back of his skull, “Six fucking year ago. Maybe give me some time to grieve it out, sure, but if it’s been bothering you for this fucking long…”

“I know, Dean.” Cas says, “I didn’t know _how_. I didn’t think you’d listen to me and, increasingly, I felt I’d left it too long to ask.”

“So you’re saying we’re both a couple of dumbasses,”

“I prefer the word misguided. Less dumb, less ass.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, letting himself crumple onto the guy’s shoulder. Cas takes it in his stride, rearranges them both on the sofa and keeps hold of his hand. Fuck. Having ten years of crap thrown in his face at the one time makes it really difficult not to hate himself because, shit, has it really been going on for that long? It. The stupid fucking it that won’t leave him alone. “This is…”

“I won’t pretend to know what I’m asking you to do here, Dean, because that’s insulting. I don’t understand, which is why I can’t help and why I’ve let it get to this point.”

“S’not your responsibility,” Dean says, “And you do help. You _do_.”

“We can talk about something else if you want, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean loves him for it, but it’s not going to be any easier to come back to it later, and he’d rather steam roll on through than have to re-fucking visit it.

“I know that I… that I have periods where I feel pretty crap. When I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders, or whatever, but I’m pretty damn sure that’s just me. You just wanna label for it cause that means you don’t have to hate me for it. I’m just… disputing your word choice.”

"Do you understand what depression is, Dean?"

"I'm not saying I'm well adjusted," Dean says, “Obviously, I’m a fucking mess.”

"Loss of energy, loss of appetite, lack of motivation, unable to find enjoyment in things that are usually enjoyable, feelings of pointlessness, lack of self-worth."

"Yeah well, Google will diagnose you anything if you try hard enough."

"Loss of sex drive,"

"File that complaint elsewhere," Dean snaps because, whilst he knows Cas doesn’t mean it like that, it still feels like a dig. Obviously, they don’t have sex as much as when they were in frigging college, but they both hold down a nine till five (largely) and have mature adult crap to do, and in the run up to Dean’s latest spell of feeling shitty ( _not_ depressed), Dean has been dodging the issue… but, generally, they’re good. 

"Feeling like you cannot get out of bed. Self-destructive behaviour. Feeling heavy. Increase in drinking."

"Okay, Cas, stop reading the metal health encyclopaedia at me. I get the point,” Dean says, chest tightening, because whilst none of that is off the mark (it’s horribly, impossibly fucking accurate, actually), depression is something that other people have. Getting caught up in how much he fucking sucks is wholly contingent on how much he sucks and, yeah, his brain is screwed at least six different ways, but he’s not… he’s _not depressed_.

Cas is usually right about these things.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Cas says, voice too fucking gentle and understanding, and Dean hides his face in the guy’s chest so that he doesn’t have to look at him. Cas wraps an arm around his back and doesn’t mention the fact that Dean’s shaking. “What do you want to watch next?”

“Don’t you gotta write that report?” Dean asks into Cas’ t-shirt, because he is _so_ not ready to face the world right now, even the world in question is just their second house, which he's still not sure he likes as much their first house, but need's must and all.

“I don’t care about Zachariah, I care about you.”

Obviously, Dean wakes up at 1am, hours after they’ve gone to bed, to find Cas squinting at his work laptop screen in bed, but he appreciates the sentiment nevertheless. Cas is fucking angel and far too good to him, but it doesn’t feel so awful accepting that when he gets to see Cas’ soft smile in the light of his laptop screen as he brushes a hand over Dean’s forehead and tells him to _get some sleep, Dean._

And, wonder of wonders, he actually does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus far this morning I have managed to: get out of bed, drink half a cup of tea AND eat 3/4 of a bagel. This is a vast improvement on yesterday where I achieved none of these things (particularly the tea thing -- I consider how many cups of tea they fail to drink as a measure of how ill someone is feeling)... so now I probably actually have to pack which is theoretically good, but also happens to involve _actual packing_.


	4. Chapter 4

He doesn’t feel nearly as much like a zombie on Tuesday morning, even if waking up alone really sucks. It’s just after seven, though, which means he can make it into work and he probably _should_ ; he’s taken too many days off in recent times for similar reasons, to the point where it’s damn handy that he doesn’t usually get _actually_ ill all that often. Plus, even though Cas is apparently already up, he won’t have left for work just yet, which is motivation enough to get up so they can touch base before he heads out. They might have left things at an okay point, but he’s still pretty worried that _Cas_ is worried, and he’ll feel better if they can at least have a damn coffee together. He has the quickest shower of all time and pulls on a pair of his own work trousers in the name of time efficiency, before heading downstairs. He’s not expecting Cas to be sat at the kitchen table, still not dressed and squinting at his phone, coffee in hand (well, he was expecting the coffee, but that’s about it). 

“You not going to work?” 

“No,” Cas says, “If I give Zachariah more motivation to believe that two days off is sufficient for the flu, he’ll believe he’s being a reasonable person, which is unacceptable in his book, and then I won’t even be allowed a full day off next time I’m ill.” 

“You need to quit,” Dean says, pouring himself coffee – he’s going to frigging need it, especially as he’s going to be spending most of the day thinking about how Cas is here by himself – and taking the seat opposite him. “For real, Cas,” 

“I can’t quit,” 

“We’d work it out,” Dean shrugs. Their money situation is pretty much solid, after eight years of having two full time incomes when they’re not supporting anyone else (Dean _was_ sending money to Sam fairly regularly for a lot of that time, but Sam was pretty damn stubborn about how much money he’d actually accept and kept winning more fucking scholarships which meant it was difficult to argue with him). Having a mortgage rather than monthly rent works out as almost cheaper – which is fucking illogical, but he’s not complaining – and means less money down the drain. Moving to the new house was a bit of a financial hit, but not to the point that they can’t deal with Cas being unemployed for a little while or taking a pay cut to get a job that makes him hate Monday’s a little less. They’re out of the hell hole of student debt. He paid back Ellen and Bobby every cent they’d let him pay back. It’s a lot better position than he thought they’d be in at thirty one. 

“It’s not about the money,” Cas says, glancing up at him over his coffee. 

“We’ve been jumping through fucking hoops for three years, Cas, and we’ve still got nowhere. Don’t you think we’ve made enough sacrifices just to get on a damn list?” 

“Unfortunately, that’s now how it works,” Cas says, “I’m glad you’re feeling up to work today.” 

Dean hums in response rather than actually saying anything, because it’s borderline and more so now he’s thinking about their shitty luck with the adoption people, who he’s sure just out and out hate them and are trying their frigging best to push him beyond what he can handle. They barely even talk about the adoption stuff anymore, because the number of conversations they have about it has exactly no effect on the outcome, so it’s easier to pretend that it’s not sitting at the forefront of his mind _all the damn time_. Also, frankly, he much preferred the previous status-quo where they don’t mention Dean’s mood swings in conversation, other than by abstract euphemism. The fact that he _feels up to work today_ sounds a little like an accusation to Dean’s ears, even though he’s damn sure that’s not how Cas meant it. Fuck. 

“So you haven’t heard anything from them lately?” 

“You know I haven’t, Dean,” Cas says, voice still tense, not looking up from his damn coffee. “Have you eaten breakfast?” 

“You know I haven’t, Cas,” Dean shoots back, “I’m just saying, if they’re so hell bent on rejecting us, I don’t see how you quitting makes all that much difference.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Dean asks, because he’s not used to Cas being so frigging grumpy, especially after such an emotionally intense conversation the day before. Usually he’s all understanding and soft (the Cas version of soft, anyway), not brittle, sharp edges and snapped words. 

“Not really,” Cas says, which means a categorical no, not for a second. Dean had been vaguely aware that Cas wasn’t asleep at several points, but he was exhausted enough that he never got round to vocalising it to Cas; every time he’d planned to he’d drifted off again, to the point where he spend brief wakeful moments planning what he could say to get Cas fucking relaxed more or less all night. 

“Go back to bed, Cas,” Dean says, “Whatever’s on your damn phone screen can wait.” 

“My expenses,” Cas says, in the sort of voice that Dean knows means he’s more or less given up and just hasn’t admitted to himself yet. 

“Do I have to carry you there, Castiel?” 

“No,” Cas says, standing up and taking a diversion to Dean’s side of the table to get a hug. Dean ain’t exactly complaining about getting an armful of Cas. He needs it, especially right now, because it combats a little of the emptiness. More than that though, it helps because _Cas_ needs it too. “You should eat some breakfast.” 

“Yes, Cas, I’ll eat some damn breakfast. Now will you quit burning yourself out? _Please_.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Have _you_ eaten breakfast?” Dean counters, because they’ve had enough fucking questions about how Dean is in the past twenty four hours, particularly when Cas is clearly the one who’s not okay this morning. He needs a day off or eight. 

“No,” Cas says, still clinging onto him. 

“Get your ass to bed and I’ll bring you some damn breakfast and a fresh coffee in a few minutes. Okay?” 

“Thank you,” 

“Go.” Dean says, waving him out the kitchen and starting a fresh pot of coffee. He probably doesn’t have enough time to cook anything decent for breakfast, but he can manage some scrambled egg, or something, which is a lot more than Cas would eat on a normal morning. It’s a good way to make sure Dean actually eats, too, because his stomach feels like lead, but not eating is only going to make him feel worse. He’s learnt enough about feeling shitty over the years to know that giving in to the temptation not to take care of his basic needs only makes him feel worse, even if there’s a certain satisfaction in it. He can’t self-destruct right now, though, because Cas needs him not to. 

John Winchester always had a knack of having some kind of mental breakdown or taking off (something which Dean totally gets as a coping mechanism because, fucking hell, he _gets_ the desire to hit the road every time shit hits the fan, he just also knows how much it would ruin everything) at the exact point it would cause the most amount of damage. He disappeared right after Dean came out. He took off after Sam fought with him about college. His body was found the week got engaged. He is categorically not doing _any_ of that to Cas and right now would be the optimum time for playing the blame game, guilty and self-loathing. He has to keep his shit together for Cas’ sake. 

“You’re an excellent life partner,” Cas says, when Dean’s back upstairs with two plates of scrambled egg on toasts and two coffees, feeling no less shitty but almost convinced that he can just ride it out. “You know, Dean, it’s counterproductive to get back into bed after you’ve left it.” 

“Dude, if you’re having breakfast in bed I’m having it with you. I got time,” Dean says, propping up a pillow and sitting down on top of the covers. Cas leans into his side, a little, which defrosts a little more of the iciness. He can make it all the way through his damn nine to five. He actually even _likes_ his job, which is more than can be said for Cas, it’s just a matter of facing the damn world for an extended period of time, but he’s got this. He can do it. He has to fucking do it. 

“I’d also suggest,” Cas begins, then pauses to yawn which is sort of adorable, actually, “Putting on a shirt before going to work.” 

“Damn, Cas, hand out anymore stellar advice like that they’ll be hounding you for your own advice column. _Ask Castiel_ ,” Dean says, taking another sip of his coffee. He feels like he needs the damn stuff on a drip straight into his veins, but he’s sure that’s his screwed up head rather than his actual body. “Expert in most kinds of sex, connoisseur of family drama and bastard bosses,” 

“You could assist me with queries about family members you actually like,” 

“Gabriel isn’t that bad,” 

“Dean, on Saturday he sent me a link to a genre of porn entirely focused around ancient gods and biblical angels.” 

“Huh,” 

“He told me it was a cat video,” 

“Serves you right for watching cat videos,” Dean says, eating another forkful of scrambled egg and glancing at the time. It’s a little tight, but he can manage to get there on time if hurries up eating. It’s not the end of the world, though, because Dean’s boss isn’t a total nut job on a power trip like Zachariah and tends to understand that sometimes things like _traffic_ or _the flu_ (or fictional flu) happen without it being some kind of glaring character flaw. 

“I was in a meeting, Dean,” 

Dean actually laughs that that, which he wasn’t expecting, both because he’s now picturing Cas watching illicit Cat videos whilst Zachariah drones on about whatever they talk about on these weekend conferences and because he’s imagining Cas’ panicking when it turns out to be _porn_. Still, he hasn’t laughed in what feels like forever, but he’s laughing now. He should buy Gabriel a damn fruit basket because, _damn_ it’s like he can breathe past how awful he is. 

“Damn, your brother’s got style,” Dean smiles, standing up and grabbing the first work-acceptable shirt his hands touch. The brief spark of lightness in his chest is fast dying because he’s got to spend most of the day pretending to have been laid up with the flu, when really he was just incapacitated by his damn feelings. There’s a reason they don’t generally give you days off for that, because grown ass men should be able to deal with their shit. Cas is going to be at home and Dean’s damn sure he’ll be replaying last night’s every which way, so it’s not like he’s gonna get much shit done. “I better head out. You, uh… if you don’t sleep, text me yeah?” 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says and smiles at him. Cas has a damned nice smile. 

He makes it through the whole day without wanting to drown himself in whiskey, which is at least an improvement on the previous four. 

* 

“This adulthood crap is the pits,” Dean says, slamming down his shitty interim review and resisting the urge to bang his head off the table too, because it’s Saturday night, he’s had the week from hell and is just barely crawling back out of it (and only because Cas is the best) and he’s had to spend the whole of Saturday catching up on everything they didn’t do all week. 

“Dean,” 

“Come on, Cas, you’ve been trying to work out your frigging expenses since noon, I’ve barely started the damn laundry, this shitty review makes me want to kill something, there’s no food in so we’ve gotta spend half of tomorrow battling it out in frigging Walmart and we haven’t taken a damn holiday since _Christmas_. Pretty sure we were supposed to put the final down payment on the stupid wedding last week and for some reason the electricity bill is through the roof. I mean, damnit, what’s the fucking _point_? Why are we even doing this? What are we _saving_ for?” 

“Dean,” 

“Is this why we went to college? So we could drown in fucking bureaucracy and have nightmares about filling in tax returns. You don’t even _like_ your job.” 

“We could get a grocery delivery instead,” Cas says, which is the exact opposite of helpful. He’s not entirely sure what helpful would look like in that instance, but Cas calmly not reacting to his angry tirade sure as hell isn’t it. He’d probably prefer it for Cas to slam down his frigging fountain pen and yell at Dean for acting like a child, which he probably is, but instead Cas is still thoroughly engrossed in trying to work out which of the six million receipts in his wallet he can claim back on expenses and which he can’t. Dean has absolutely no idea why the guy doesn’t sort the damn things out as he goes along instead of at the end of the month, or why the more dollar a job pays you the more likely they are to let you claim expenses back (because, seriously, they pay him enough that they probably don’t need to also cough up for his lunch), but whatever. 

“Fucking awesome,” Dean snaps, “Hallelujah. We don’t have to go to Walmart and all it costs is an extra ten dollars.” 

“I don’t think it costs ten dollars for a delivery,” 

“Cas,” Dean says, “I’m going crazy over here. Please save me from my interim review. I’ll do your damn expenses. I’ll do the dishes. I’ll do the dishes naked. I’ll do the dishes wearing nothing but panties and your trench coat.” 

“You’d do my expenses?” 

Dean groans and burries his face in his arms on their kitchen table, because today is _shitty_ and it’s supposed to be the best day of the week. Having a crap Saturday is going to have him in a funk until the following damn Saturday and he’s still midway through his last funk, which just _isn’t going away_. Like because Cas finally shed light on the existence of these moods his doomed to feel this crappy about everything forever, which he can’t do. “That’s what you got from that?” 

“I’ve nearly finished, Dean. Give me five minutes.” 

“Great,” Dean says, “I’ll just blow my fucking brains out.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, for the umpteenth time since he started his rant, but this time his voice is razor sharp and Dean has absolutely all of his attention. 

“For fu… I don’t _mean it_.” 

“Then don’t say it,” Cas says, then adds another receipt to the _claim_ pile. “I’m done,” 

“That wasn’t five minutes,” 

“Clearly, you are the more pressing problem.” 

“I ain’t a problem,” 

“I’ll rephrase. Currently you are the more annoying entity in the room,” Cas says, but by that point his stood up, crossed the room and is running his hands over Dean’s shoulders, so Dean figures he doesn’t really mean it. “Can I help?” 

“Dunno,” Dean mutters, “Still feel like crap and this sure as hell isn’t helping.” 

“Interim reviews rarely help anything,” 

“And we’ve still gotta talk some more,” 

“We do,” 

“And this review is a frigging self-assessment, like I haven’t done enough of that this week already,” Dean complains, turning round in his seat to face Cas properly. Cas is still standing which is obviously unnecessary, so he pulls Cas onto his lap and rests his hands on his hips. “I feel like a holiday would fix me.” 

“We have one booked,” Cas says, reaching forward to kiss him. It’s a brief simple thing that they’ve exchanged a hundred times, but it’s still enough to make his evening feel marginally less shitty. He’s barely even scared by how much he’s in love with Cas, at this point, its just… part of his identity, like Cas said. 

“Cas, we have to survive the wedding first,” Dean says, “Which we let Sam and Gabriel plan so we didn’t have to.” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “It did seem like a good idea at the time,” 

It _did_ seem like a good idea at the time, except letting them take over the whole damn thing (God knows why they’d want to, but Dean figured it was because Sam is a sap with no life and Gabriel’s down with any kind of a party) meant that it changed from an, oh, it’s kind of awkward that we haven’t got round to this yet technicality, to an actual wedding, with some of the trimmings. And a reception. And a guest lists including Lucifer, Michael and Cas’ mother (although none of them RSVPed yet, according to Sam, so there was still a chance none of them would show). And a fucking photographer. 

“ _And_ we’ve got to survive their bullshit time apart before the wedding.” 

“That didn’t seem like a good idea at any time,” Cas says, “What have you upturned in your self-assessments?” 

“Nothing good, for work or for the other thing,” Dean says, which gets him a pinched, sad look from Cas. He’s probably due for another round of Cas’ self-esteem boost mission, which Dean is just not down for right now. It sounds frustrating and painful and like a waste of time. Cas is right, because Cas can say nice things about him till he’s used up all the oxygen in Lawrence, but Dean’s still not gonna buy into his way of thinking. Love is blind and damn stupid, so Cas isn’t exactly a credible source. So, time to change the damn subject. “Figured I don’t shut everyone out of it. Talk to Benny ‘bout it, sometimes.” 

On a less touchy subject, that would probably be an incendiary device in and of itself. 

The problem Cas has with Benny isn't so much that they slept together one and a bit times (the bit being sort of after he started sleeping with Cas), because that was so far in the past it feels kinda laughable. That's just history. It’s more the fact that being emotionally vulnerable in certain ways in front of Benny comes much easier than it does with Cas – they have a lot of common experiences, a lot of father shit to content with, and Benny talks openly about being in love and beauty without it contradicting with his masculinity. It's different with Cas. Cas is more stoic. He's a different kind of masculine and whilst Dean knows, academically, that masculinity and gender roles and all that bullocks makes no fucking difference to anything, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything in practice. Plus, they fulfil entirely different roles in his life and his screwed up head can’t help associate the role of romantic partner stroke family as someone that he’s supposed to be protecting, even if that’s protecting from himself. Benny isn’t his _responsibility_ in the same way that Cas is, so it works out that it’s easier to talk about being weak with Benny than it is with Cas. It just is and, yeah, he can see why that would bother Cas if he was already feeling insecure, which is generally when the Benny-subject gets turned into a grenade. 

“Did you speak to him last weekend?” Cas asks, voice level. It’d be hard to love Cas any more than he does already, but he gets a wave of it as Cas just _accepts_ that without turning it into some kind of problem. For some reason, Dean’s messed up head space is the important part of this conversation. 

“Dropped him a text saying it was a bad day. Figure he knew what I meant.” 

“I respect Benny,” Cas says, and there’s an implicit _but_ that Cas is wise enough not to add. Dean pretty much hears it anyway. 

“But you don’t think he’s cut out to be my walking talking angst diary because he’s been dry for like two minutes?” Dean asks, and he’s the asshole, because he’s the one turning this into a problem. “That’s not what I text him for, man. He’s knee deep in shit, Cas, I know that. He replied telling me to hang in there, that was it. Guess I just wanted someone to know I was having a bad day.” 

Cas looks like he’s figuring out his next question for a long time. Dean knows what the damn question is going to be, he’s just not sure how Cas is going to word it. 

“Can I do that for you?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Cas, but you can’t,” Dean says. Cas does a good impression of being unaffected by it, but Dean see’s right through it and sort of hates himself, so he tightens his hold Cas’ hips to keep him focused. “Not because of you, Cas, because of _me_. I worry that I’m making you worry and it makes me feel worse.” 

“And you’re not worried about Benny worrying?” 

“I’m not _worried_ he’s gonna do something stupid because of his worry. Look, if I really fall down the rabbit hole, Benny’ll get over it. Yeah, he’d be kind of bummed, but it’s not gonna ruin his damn life. That means the guy can just drop me a one line text, check in the next day and not spend the whole damn time sat on the edge of his overthinking about every shitty thought that’s running round my head. You’re already so far into my life, I open up about this too much and I’ll drive us both crazy and make us both miserable. It won’t work.” 

“I want to help,” 

“You’ve got me thinking about it, Cas, we’re talking about this right now, there’s just only so far I can go before we’re going backwards,” Dean says, “Obviously, there’s some kind of problem, here. Just right now I can’t process that as being anything but me being a failure.” 

“Dean,” 

“I know that’s not what you mean, Cas, you’re too good to think that,” Dean frowns, “I’m trying.” 

“Have you considered the thing you didn’t want me to mention in our last conversation?” Cas asks. It makes his stomach turn over even thinking about it, but Cas tempers the question by settling hands back on Dean’s shoulders. He’s not trying to push. Or at least, he is, but the pushing isn’t supposed to be aggressive. Dean’s pretty sure if he told Cas to drop it he would, which is how he’s actually able to produce a damn answer. 

Professional help. 

“I don’t know what the hell that even looks like, and it sounds like something I don’t wanna touch with a ten foot pole but, this makes me sound like an asshole, Cas, but if it’s a choice between carving my head open so you get to see all the shitty bits and going over it all with Dr Phil, I’ll take Dr Phil,” Dean says, then it’s white hot loathing because, fucking hell, Cas is doing _everything_ to try and help him with the fact that he’s so needy and damaged, and Dean can’t even talk to him about it. “That’s probably not what you want me to say.” 

“Dean, I _told you_ I was selfish and proud when I didn’t bring it up because I feared you’d push me out –“ 

“– which is exactly what it looks like I’m doing, huh?” 

“ – but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect your decision about what’s best for you,” 

“But you _want_ me to spill my guts to you, Cas, and I can’t.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas says, low and gentle, “Dean, you can redraw your boundaries however you like,” 

“You’ve been sitting on this for ten fucking years,” Dean says, chest tight, “And then you finally talk and I’m still fucking it up.” 

“You’re not fucking anything up. I’m glad we’re talking about this,” Cas says, “That’s enough.” 

“How?” Dean complains, and he’s so goddamn frustrated this evening and he doesn’t have a damn clue where it’s come from, but it’s difficult to think past. It just sucks that they’re spending their Saturday night talking about the possibility of Dean going to frigging therapy and it _sucks_ that he can’t react and be exactly how Cas wants him to be, even if he knows Cas would chew him out for that thought if he voiced it out loud. “ _How_ is any of this enough?” 

“Because _you_ are enough,” Cas says, which is awful and cheesy and absolute bullshit, and has Dean’s jaw clenching. Cas just kisses him anyway, and Cas is smiling some-fucking-how, so Dean just lets him until it chases some of the residual shit-storm in his brain. 

* 

“Sometimes,” Dean says, and it feels like he’s dredging the words up from some vaguely painful and he’s probably fulfilled his honesty quota for the day, but he winds up carrying on anyway, because it’s the closest he’s ever been to saying it. “Feel like you only pretend to like this to humour me.” 

“This?” Cas asks, glancing up from where he’s cosied up against Dean’s side and tucked under his arm and frowning at him. Dean tries to nod at their vague position on the sofa and hopes that Cas gets it, because he’s not sure he can stand going for the longer explanation of what he means right now. “Oh, you mean the cuddling equivalent of you being the big spoon.” 

“Wouldn’t have said it like that, dork, but yeah,” Dean says. 

“You didn’t say it all,” Cas says, “Why would I be humouring you?” 

“I know it’s dumb and probably inherited from my Dad, or something, but I just…” 

“Like fulfilling the typically male role?” Cas suggests, which is definitely _not_ what he was expecting him to say, because Cas doesn’t buy into any of the stuff for a damn minute. That means Cas is actually listening to him which is, well… a lot of the time the guy assumes he knows what’s going on in Dean’s head and jumps to annoying conclusions without ever _asking_ him, so Cas asking that question as if it’s not something that probably really pisses him off is a damn miracle, especially as it’s sort of adjacent to what he’s trying to say. Cas is _listening_ without judgement or assumptions. He’s just listening. Maybe Dean can’t talk to him about all of it – because he absolutely fucking can’t – but… this tiny smidgen of shit, he can manage. 

“Kind of. Sounds a little bit too much like those dickbags who ask who’s the dude in the relationship when the whole damn point is that we both have dicks and, anyway, I _know_ all that stuff is just propaganda, I just… I _like_ thinking you see me as a strong protective kind of guy. I wanna be your bad ass manly boyfriend, even if it’s dumb and flawed and all the rest.” 

“And you feel that discussing… it,” Cas settles on, which is good, because it means they’re no longer throwing round words like _depression_. Cas is trying to damn hard with this. “That makes you less so? And that I’m humouring you in the first instance?” 

“Ten points to Ravenclaw,” Dean mutters, “S’why I can’t talk to Sam, either. I’m supposed to be his tough big brother. He’s supposed to look up to me and shit. I’m supposed to _protect_ you both, not dump piles of emotional crap on you.” 

“You can do both, Dean,” 

“It feels so unnatural,” 

“That’s because society propagates damaging ideals of masculinity.” 

“Right,” Dean says, “But it propagated them all over me, dude. I get that _you_ can be a bad ass manly dude and also be all gung-ho about having feelings and shit. Although, I only _know_ that you’re a frigging cuddle-addict who likes acoustic versions of Kesha songs and reads YA novels and doesn’t care about being all macho because I really know you. Surface level, you kinda fit the stoical man thing. Pretty sure Sam has longer hair than his last girlfriend and he still kicks lawyer-ass, but he could also probably kick their asses in fist fight, too. Then afterwards he’d be all sensitive about how they _feel_ about it. He’s like the modern day man, or whatever. Hell, Benny’s fatal flaw is that he’s a hopeless romantic. He managed to meet someone, get married, have a kid and get a frigging divorce in the space of time between our engagement and us getting hitched, and he managed to fit in the alcohol thing and rehab too. He somehow manages to work the flowers-and-frigging-poetry angle in a way that doesn’t compromise his masculinity. So, yeah, I get how other people can flaunt these stupid norms and it not matter. I’m past my sex life making any kind of difference. I just… if I’m _in therapy_ or you’re emotionally propping me up because I’m too much of a mess to function, that makes me less. At least, that’s how I feel.” 

“Your perceived role means a lot to you, so my reinforcing it makes you feel good,” Cas says, slowly. Dean’s pretty sure he’s just checking that he’s following which is sort of awesome, actually, because Cas is righteous and pretty stubborn about it and Dean _knows_ that all this stuff is based on a whole load of crap Cas doesn’t believe in. Cas spent most of the first few years of their friendship teaching him how contrived and pointless all these gender roles are and how they got projected onto people’s sexualities, till it worked out that _obviously_ Dean found it damn hard to come out, because somewhere along the way being a dude that like dudes became unnecessarily character defining in a way that was never gonna fit with Dean’s character. Working out he was bisexual was only hard because of all his preconceptions about what that _meant_ about him, when really the only damn thing it meant was that he _was bisexual_. This stuff a different side of the same coin, really, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t dictate about how he feels about everything. 

“Yes,” 

“And you think I’m just humouring you because… you have some conception of failing in that role?” Cas suggests, forehead furrowed, pinched frown in place. Dean doesn’t answer that one because he’s dead on, but Cas must get the answer from his expression. “You _are_ my ‘bad ass manly boyfriend’, Dean. I like this because I like this. I _do_ feel protected and safe.” 

“Okay,” Dean says, throat tight, as he tightens his grip around the guy. This is too real and means a helluv a lot more than it should, but only because Dean’s _let_ it mean something for such a long time. Dean doesn’t even know why he started the damn conversation, but… he feels like Cas might actually get it. He’s not telling Dean he’s being dumb for buying into it in the first place, or that it’s irrational to base his sense of worth on something as transient as perceived masculinity, he’s just… trying to understand Dean’s perspective. 

“I have never thought of you as weak,” Cas continues, “Or as someone I am ‘emotionally propping up’ and I very much doubt my opinion of you is going to change, regardless of your decisions about this.” 

Apparently, these are _Dean’s_ decisions now. 

“You help with this stuff a lot,” Dean says, “Cause if you can be kick ass and still wanna cuddle up on the sofa, then so can I.” 

“Indeed you can,” Cas says, almost smiling this time. 

“I still mean what I said earlier,” Dean says, even if he feels like an asshole for bringing it up _again_ , “I’m gonna try and talk to you more about this sort of stuff, but the heavy duty stuff… I can’t. It’ll fuck everything up.” 

Cas nods as if Dean’s telling him he can’t do any laundry this week. 

“Thank you for talking about this, Dean. And I’m glad you think I’m _kick ass_ despite my opinions of Kesha. I hadn’t realised it was such a character flaw,” 

“One of your worst,” Dean says, nearly smiling but not quite managing it, “You listen to some decent fucking music you’d practically be perfect.” 

“Apart from the YA novels?” 

“Dude, read what you like. I don’t give a damn.” 

“Very generous,” Cas says, leaning forward to kiss him. It’s a proper kiss (the kind with tongue and heat and intent), this time, which has Cas slotting a hand under his jaw and shifting on the sofa till he’s more on top of him than curled up against his side. He gets most of Cas’ weight as part of the package, but it’s mostly reassuring. He’s used to the warmth of it, by this point, and it’s familiar and home and all the rest. 

“Long as you don’t expect me to listen to you getting pissed about Katniss’ whining again,” Dean says, which wins him a smile and another pretty serious kiss, for reasons Dean’s not entirely sure he understands. He means it about the whole Katniss thing and Cas has got to know that, given how irritated Dean got about it at the time (and because Cas then made him sit through all four movies, which were actually better than he’d expected considering how frustrated Cas got about the damn love triangle). He’ll take the damn kiss, anyway, because Cas is awesome. 

“I love you,” Cas says, moving a hair’s breadth way to speak. 

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice,” Dean says, as Cas moves from his lips to that spot on his neck and bites a kiss there, instead. It’s a good place for Cas’ lips to be, which Cas knows full fucking well, because the guy has read the book about how Dean Winchester’s body works, then rewrote the damn thing with some pretty significant edits and then fucking memorised it for quicker recall of facts. “Cas, we’ve gotta do the grocery order before ten,” Dean says, twisting out of his reach to grab his laptop. Then he gets Cas just _looking_ at him, still more or less sat on him for a few seconds before he allows Dean enough space to flip the laptop open. Dean’s not sure what to make of that look, either, because it’s not one he recognises straight off, but if they wanna both eat _and_ not face an actual supermarket tomorrow, they’ve only got half an hour. “I’m thinking Mexican,” 

The _look_ continues for a few more seconds before Cas acknowledges that he’s spoken. 

“I’m going to shower,” 

“Well don’t go blaming me when we’re eating red meat all week,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, detangling himself from Dean on the sofa, which takes a lot more movement that Dean really feels like it should, considering. “Who else’s fault could it possibly be?” 

“You snooze you lose,” Dean shrugs, but he winds up ordering a bunch of stuff that Cas likes that Dean tolerates, just because Cas has had a pretty shitty week too and, anyway, they can only have burgers so many times in a week. He draws the line at zucchini, but he can probably deal with avocado and the more expensive bread that Cas likes (they’re still having steak though, because he hasn’t totally lost the plot). 

Cas takes a long ass time in the shower, to the point where Dean’s typing in their card details by the time he resurfaced. He doesn’t really give a damn _what_ they charge him for delivery at this point, because there’s an increasing feeling of despair sitting just below his lungs which has him thinking he wouldn’t have been able to make it to Walmart without having a panic attack (it’s been years since he’s had one of those and he really doesn’t need it now). At least this way, he can feel like he’s been completely drained of blood without witnesses. 

“Have you ordered?” 

Dean glances up, nods, then double takes, because Cas looks, well… 

“Dude, did you just jerk off in the shower?” He doesn’t get an answer and instead Cas just stands their looking awkward, which is as good as a yes, really, but Dean already knew that anyway because he _can tell_. He’s read the book on Castiel, too, a couple of hundred times over. “You totally did. Invite me to the party next time, buddy.” 

Cas _looks_ at him again like Dean’s missing something obvious and semi-important, but whatever it is Dean’s brain is completely frigging done for the day. He’s completely flat out done with interim reviews and frigging adulthood and digging into his mountain of issues, because they all suck. 

“The grocery order had to be completed before ten,” Cas says, which sparks Dean’s turn at _staring_ because he’s sure Cas is getting at something and he doesn’t really know what. Fuck it. They’ve been talking for hours and he _can’t_ anymore. 

“Well, whatever,” Dean says, “Can we do _something_ that doesn’t make me feel like we wasted our whole Saturday?” 

“What do you suggest?” 

They wind up having a classic western movie marathon whilst Cas continually and incessantly points out how historically inaccurate they all are and the various points at which Dean’s cowboy-kink is visibly showing. He’s in a better mood by the time they finally drag their asses to bed, at least, even if it's not exactly the weekend he's been dreaming of since Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Packed, moved, unpacked, virtually healthy, growingly surprised about how longer this story is getting without my permission...


	5. Chapter 5

Something fundamental has to change, because Cas needs it to change. That’s enough, even if feels fucking impossible and he’s not quite sure how that even looks in real life. Even taking Cas out of the equation (which he plans to do exactly never), he’s pretty convicted that something has to give, because Dean still feels like his insides have been chewed up, digested and then regurgitated and he’s just barely hanging in there, when he has absolutely no reason to feel shitty about anything. 

He’s got Cas laid across his stomach glaring at an email that’s apparently pissed him off. The guy’s near enough taken Dean’s admission that Cas treating him like a human pillow stroke teddy bear makes him feel good about himself as an ongoing instruction to be as fucking tactile as possible. Whilst it’s sort of nice in a lot of different ways, including the fact that it _does_ make him feel good and the fact that Cas is so damn intent on loving him the way that’s best for Dean, it’s getting to the point where it’s almost annoying. Not properly annoying, but more the affectionate, muted way that Cas pisses him off just about daily, which is underlined by all that hallmark card stuff. They’re actually getting frigging married. Dean’s growingly feeling like the adoption thing is just doomed and an exercise in getting his hopes up then fucking sinking him, but even if it _never_ works out they still have a pretty sweet set up. 

He’s got Sam whining to him down the phone about a particularly tricky case that he’s getting to work on, even though he hasn’t been qualified for all that long (in lawyer terms, anyway). Sam’s ambition all just seemed to _work out_ and his baby brother is successful and happy. Maybe he lives much too far away, but he still makes a point to call Dean three times a week to talk about the dumbest crap. 

He likes his job. He likes their house. He loves his car. 

Everything’s so much better than he thought he’d ever get, which is why it’s so damn annoying that it feels so _horrible_ and it just won’t shift. He should be fucking radiating joy, but instead he’s stuck trying to keep his shit under control over the phone, less Sam get in on the mission impossible that is _fixing Dean Winchester_. 

“I’m fine, Sam, why do you keep asking?” Dean snaps, for what feels like the fifth time since this conversation began, which he’s managed to keep largely focused on Sam, because Dean’s life isn’t all that interesting. He goes to work, comes home, watches TV with Cas and sleeps for unreasonable lengths of time (for example, pretty much the whole of Sunday). That’s all he’s got and he doesn’t really want to talk about most of those things, considering right now all of its sort of the pits (except _Cas_ , obviously). 

“Because, Dean, you’ve barely been answering my calls and when you do you’ve been kind of… off,” Sam says, which is the last fucking thing Dean needs and actually hurts. It feels more a dull throb in his forehead than anything else, but hurts nevertheless. Even _Sam’s_ noticed what a frigging mess he is and he’s hundreds of miles away in Palo Alto. 

“When did you get so damn needy, anyway?” Dean asks, which is a bit fucking rich coming from _Dean_ , given he’s only just worked out how to function with Sam so far away and only by becoming entirely too dependent on Cas, but still. He needs some diversion away from the fact that Sam’s apparently picked up on the fact that Dean’s ‘kinda off’, too. “I’m frigging fantastic.” 

“How’s Cas?” Sam asks, which is a hell of a lot better than Sam asking about Dean and means he can continue pretending that he _is_ frigging fantastic. 

“Pouting at his inbox,” 

“I don’t pout, Dean,” Cas says, from where he’s almost definitely pouting at his inbox but, whatever, he’s going to let it slide this once, because he’d sure as hell be pouting if he came home to thirty emails that apparently _had_ to be answered that evening. 

“He says he doesn’t pout,” Dean adds, watching Cas. Aside from staring at his emails (and not answering them, it has to be noted), he’s also attempting to eat potato chips. He keeps completely missing his mouth because he's distracted, though, and it's utterly adorable and is just cementing how utterly shit Dean Winchester is, because is _so damn cute_ and Dean just… sucks. 

“Look, Sammy, we’re both heading out this evening, so unless you got something urgent you need to get off your chest –” 

“– Actually,” Sam interrupts, “I was thinking of visiting this weekend.” 

“This weekend?” Dean repeats, stomach sinking, because he cannot see Sam right now. He’s too… low. His head’s too fucked up. It’s bad enough that Cas knows about this, but if he has Sam on his case as well then he’s utterly screwed. Dean’s throat tightens. “Sam, you’re gonna be here in a couple of weeks for the thing.” 

“You mean your wedding?” Sam asks, and he can practically see the goddamn bitchface accompanying that. It makes him miss his brother and hate himself a little more in equal measures, but then almost everything has been having that effect on him tonight. He needs to sort his head out. 

“Right,” Dean says, “That thing.” 

“Four weeks and five days,” Cas adds, looking incredible amused with himself even though there’s absolutely nothing funny about Cas becoming a walking-talking wedding countdown. He’s distracted enough that he completely misses his face with another potato chip though, which actually _is_ amusing. 

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean says, “And quit eavesdropping.” 

“I’m lying on you, Dean, it’s hard not to.” 

“Then _relocate_ , asshole,” Dean says, but keeps the arm draped over his chest firmly in place (Cas’ current tactile-mission might be annoying, but that doesn’t mean Dean is going to give him an excuse to stop). “Sam, you’re flying out in like three weeks. What gives? Is something up?” 

“I just…” 

“Sam, I told you _I am fine_ ,” Dean snaps, “Are you projecting some deep-set angst on me?” 

“No,” Sam says, “I just… have a free weekend,” 

“Then get a life, Sam, not a flight to Lawrence.” 

“You don’t want me to come?” 

Oh, fuck, Sammy. _Obviously_ he always wants to see Sam. He doesn’t get enough of his brother, even if he doesn’t get why they guy would want to waste his (admittedly not unsubstantial) pay package on buying a last minute flight to Lawrence when he’s already using most of his damn holiday to be up here for two frigging weeks for the wedding (Sammy is goddamn obsessed with this stupid wedding. Dean would be concerned if he wasn’t secretly pleased about getting so much Sam time). Sam-time is a precious commodity even if Sam should have better things to do with his weekend then hang out with Dean. Like frigging _date_ or see some of his damn friends, or something. 

He just can’t have Sam dropping into their tentatively balanced new normal. The fact that he’s coming in three weeks isn’t enough time, really, for Dean to be confident that he will be actually fine rather than _I’m-fine_ , but he sure as hell isn’t gonna make it by this weekend. 

They’re trying to rebalance everything all over again, and having a little time would be probably really facilitate that. 

Anyway, he can’t deal with _both of them_ even if he feels like a shitty brother and a douchebag for not wanting Sam to visit. He also can’t say any of that to Sam down the damn phone. 

“Cas was away on a business trip last weekend, then he was working half of this weekend. Could use a little us time.” 

"Dean, you can manage one weekend without having sex." Sam says and, oh yeah, that’s another bitchface. He fucking wishes that was their current problem and, anyway, Sam’s like completely deluded about extremely long term relationships. It makes sense, considering his brother’s yet to really have one that hit the year mark, but still. It’s been ten years. They’ve survived a lot of weekends without having sex. 

"Hey, man, you'd be surprised. How long is it since we got down? You got a counter for that, too?” 

Cas thinks about it for a few moments before reaching for another potato chip, successfully navigating it to his mouth and eating the damn thing near enough in slow motion. He’d been expecting Cas to just roll out an answer of vague accuracy, straight off, and the fact that he’s dawdling about answering has Dean paying a little bit more attention. 

“It was six weeks on Saturday,” 

_That_ completely floors him. He’d figured it had been like… a couple of weeks, maybe. Well under a month. He hasn’t exactly been on the top of his game because he feels like his heart fucking imploded, but…. Six weeks is a damn long time. _Six fucking weeks_. 

"I don't know what to do with this information," Sam says and, _yeah_ he probably didn’t need Sam to know that, either. That doesn’t make his head feel like it’s screwed on any tighter, but he’s still caught on _six weeks_. Fuck Cas for being so frigging literal and actually turning up an accurate answer. 

“Then you quit eavesdropping, too,” 

“He’s lying on you, Dean, its hard not to.” 

Dean relocates Cas’ head from his stomach and stands up because he needed to get out of this situation before he asked that damn question because… because, yeah, they’ve been together for nearly ten years, so the can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other thing is more a matter of habit and tactical-closeness than about being on the edge of sex constantly…. But six weeks has got to be the longest damn time they haven’t slept together since Dean left and he _didn’t even notice_. 

“Well, whatever,” Dean says, the words coming out sort of mangled as he heads towards the kitchen. Cas will probably still be able to hear him from there, but… still. He needs the space. He needs to _process_. “Wasn’t there some girl?” 

“Amelia,” 

“Right, the vet,” Dean says, “Shouldn’t you be wining and dining her, or something?” 

“Are you and Cas okay?” 

“I told you everything’s _fine_ ,” Dean snaps, because, holy shit, maybe it’s _not_ fine. _Maybe they’re not fine_. “My head’s been kind of scattered these past couple of weeks, but you need to quit asking me if there’s some kind of frigging problem, Sam. Everything’s great.” 

“Pre-wedding jitters?” Sam suggests and, _Jesus_ Sam is so goddamn obsessed with this stupid wedding, which he’d barely even been stressed about before this damn conversation. The whole thing is just… unnecessary and long and _expensive_. And really, really soon. 

“Do I sound like someone who gives a fuck about this damn wedding?” 

“Yes,” Sam says, “You do,” 

“I will hang up on you, Sam.” 

“I thought you were going out, anyway,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Going to the gym with Benny,” 

“Cute,” Sam says, “What’s Cas doing?” 

Dean talks to Sam too much, clearly, because he can _hear_ the fact that Sam knows full well Cas is volunteering and the goddamn Scouts (Dean’s not even _touching_ that. He’s just taking it as Cas-quirk that he can’t talk him out of), because otherwise he wouldn’t be asking. 

“You know what he’s doing,” Dean says and, also, he can’t deal with rehashing that conversation all over again. Not that Sam _knows_ that that borders on a sensitive topic, so Sam just thinks it’s hilarious. “Bye, Sam,” Dean says, then hangs up and tries not to freak out, both because he’s pretty sure John Winchester is turning in his grave after everything Dean just did and because… because _six weeks_. The wedding is in _four_. Even with Dean holding him off, Sam is still due in Lawrence _soon_. 

Cas enters the kitchen a few seconds after Dean’s hung up, which is probably what he was expecting him to do but he’s still not sure it’s what he wants. Still, by that point Dean’s got a white-knuckle hold on the kitchen counter and is staring at the stack of mail they haven’t opened without really seeing any of it, because _fuck_. 

“I’m sorry Sam heard that,” 

“That’s not my problem with what when down in the last five minutes,” 

“You don’t like it when I’m too forthcoming about our sex life with Sam,” 

“No I fucking don’t,” Dean agrees, because he especially doesn’t like it when he feels like _this_ , when apparently sex is a sore topic. “ _What_ sex life?” Dean asks, which has Cas staring at him for a few seconds. Dean straightens up from where he’s learning on the counter to turn to face him properly. He’s probably going to need to for the latest in the long line of shitty conversations. “Cas, we’re… we’re not having sex.” 

“We’re not not having sex, Dean,” Cas says, “We’re just…” 

“Dude, how long do you not have to screw to count as not screwing in your book?” Dean asks, “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I didn’t know how long it had been or the fact that you did.” 

“Dean,” 

“This is _my fault_ ,” Dean says, swallowing, because it _is_ his fault. Cas near enough never turns down sex, ever, which means the cause of their occasional dry spells usually comes down to Dean, which is fine. It doesn’t usually matter, but then it’s not usually this long. Still, now he’s _thinking_ about the past few weeks he can practically feel himself brushing Castiel off whenever any kind of touched gained intent. They’re experienced enough in gravitating around each other that Dean doesn’t generally _think_ that much about when and where and how they’re touching, it just happens. Of all the dumb shit that goes on in their daily lives, Dean overthinks things like bin days and the dishes a lot more than how Cas kissed him when he got back from work. That stuff is automatic. 

“No one is at _fault_.” 

“Fine, Cas, I’ll rephrase. It’s because of _me_ that we’re not sleeping together,” Dean says, mouth dry, “You… I’ve been brushing you off. With the frigging grocery shopping and the early nights and… Shit, Cas.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” 

“Sex _matters_.” 

“Not as much as we thought it did when we were in our early twenties,” 

“That’s what old people who aren’t getting any say, Cas, the ones who are are still preaching the gospel for regularly getting off,” Dean says, “Yeah, it’s not the most important thing in our life or even our frigging relationship, but that don’t mean it suddenly doesn’t matter. You frigging _counted,_ for fucks sakes, Cas. Don’t try telling me it doesn’t matter.” 

“It’s how I keep track of how bad you’re feeling,” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Dean,” Cas says, “I have a number of methods of trying to establish how bad –” 

“ – my _depression_ is?” Dean prompts, “Fucking aces, Cas, thanks a lot.” 

“Because we don’t _talk about it_ ,” Cas says, voice forcefully calm, “Or at least, we didn’t. I’m only trying to say that I don’t keep track because I mind,” 

“So you are admitting this is my fault?” 

“Will you please stop assigning blame?” 

“Will you stop dodging the question?” Dean demands, “You ever think to ask me about this?” 

“It’s not of import,” 

“Like hell,” 

“Dean, I have no intention of _ever_ demanding an explanation for why you do not want to have sex.” 

“You know full well that’s not what I mean, Cas, don’t be a dick,” Dean says, “What happened to being honest about this crap?” 

“I knew you weren’t _fully aware_ of the extent to which it effects our sex life,” Cas says, which has Dean clenching his jaw in irritation even if Cas used the designated ‘it’ rather than ‘depression’ or any other label he feels like sticking on Dean’s forehead, “And I did not want you to try and overcompensate –“ 

“– dude, poor fucking word choice,” 

“- and force yourself to engage in sexual activity out of some misguided sense of obligation.”

“ _Stop_ talking like you teach sex ed,” Dean snaps, “So you decided I’m not capable of making my own fucking decisions?” 

“You _have_ been making that decision, Dean.” 

“Right, I have,” Dean says, “Don’t treat me like I’m broken, Cas. It’s _bullshit_. We’re a team. You can’t sell me some story about how you don’t think I’m weak if you don’t trust me with some pretty pertinent information.” 

“It’s not a matter of not trusting you, Dean, I didn’t think it was particularly important.” 

“You _counted_.” 

“I am _trying_ Dean,” Cas says, his own voice rising, “I _apologise_ that I am apparently doing everything wrong, but I am doing my best. Tell me how I can help and I will do it.” 

“I _don’t know_. You’re the fucking expert with your google diagnosis and your mood markers, Cas, you tell me how to fix me,” Dean almost yells, which he shouldn’t be doing, because this is a dumb fucking argument and he just… he’s just frustrated and angry and this whole thing has knocked him for six and Cas _isn’t helping_. That’s not Cas’ fault, but he’s the only one here for him to yell at. He can’t yell at his own insides, even if they’re the thing that’s screwing him over. 

“Dean, you’re not broken,” 

“Well if it’s not _me_ then what the hell’s going on with our relationship, huh? We gonna watch a movie and drink tea on our wedding night? Play poker, clothes edition, all honeymoon? You can rock the too long solo showers whilst I order room service.” 

“You’re being ridiculous,” 

“Fuck that,” 

“No, Dean, fuck this conversation,” Cas says, eyes flashing, “You’re needlessly inventing problems where there aren’t any and you are implying I have a problem with the status quo too, which is insulting and demeans what I value in our relationship.” 

He wasn’t expecting Cas to get prissy. Recently, he’s been treated to large doses of Cas’ seemingly unending patience with Dean’s bullshit, so he’d sort of forgotten that a large part of what he loves about Cas is how willing he is to call Dean out on it. Obviously, that doesn’t apply to this mental health crap, because that’s just barely not off limits and very much a sensitive issue, but… apparently this is a separate issue to Cas. That or Dean’s just caught him at a weak point.

“Dean, we’re not even arguing about anything. We’re just baiting each other because we’re frustrated,” Cas says, but his voice is still raised, even if he’s got a damn good point. Dean’s not sure what he’s upset about, really, he just knows that he _is_ , in the same way that he’s known he’s been _sad_ for weeks without knowing what the damn hell he has to be sad about. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re frustrated,” 

“Damnit, Dean,” Cas says, every inch of him tense, sharp angles. The guy’s a goddamn coiled spring and Dean knows exactly how he feels, actually, because it’s not like he’s any different. They are both frustrated. They’ve only technically been batting round this whole conversation for a week, but it feels like a hell of a lot longer. 

Course, that’s when the doorbell rings and, of course, they’re having their damn argument near enough to the front door that Benny’s probably heard half of it. Or at least, he’ll have definitely heard that they’re having an argument, which isn’t likely to improve Cas’ mood whatsoever. It doesn’t help the tension headache pushing in just above Dean’s left eyebrow, either, but then Dean’s mood is currently guaranteed to be shitty, whilst there’s at least hope for Castiel. 

“Benny,” Cas says, frowning. Dean fucking loves those frowns when it’s not virtually impossible to conjure up some kind of positive feeling about anything whatsoever and when the circumstances of said frowns aren’t so crappy. When it’s something extraneous that has Cas wearing those pinched frowns, Dean frigging _loves_ them. 

“We’ll talk later,” Dean says, dropping his voice from irate to low, because he hates leaving things on bad terms. They tend to take the route where they don’t resolve interrupted arguments as much as mutually agree that they’re _going_ to resolve them before being pulled away. Usually by the time they’ve had a bit of time they’re both willing to concede that the argument didn’t matter and, anyway, they’re less likely to say awful shit just for the sake of getting a reaction. It’s probably for the best that Benny’s interrupting them. 

They’re already standing near enough chest to chest because they _do that_ when they’re verbally sparring and shit, but Dean takes a step forward anyway. 

“Enjoy girl guides,” 

“Scouts,” Cas corrects. 

“Because that’s so much better,” Dean says, as Benny rings the doorbell for a second time. Benny knows they’ve frigging heard him, because the yelling’s stopped and there’s no way he can’t hear that. He’s just being an annoying shit for the whole purpose of being an annoying shit, which means Dean feels exactly no guilt about stepping forward to kiss Cas. An actual, searing, purposeful kind of kiss, the type of which they probably haven’t exchanged for six frigging weeks. It’s a promise that he’s not about to pull something stupid or let any of this ruin them and it’s one that Cas clings onto, griping hold of the material of his shirt until Dean steps back. “We’ll be a couple of hours. Text me if you need anything.” 

Benny looks distinctly amused by the whole situation when Dean opens the door about thirty seconds later, which means he definitely heard the yelling. Benny _would_ find it amusing. Benny finds pretty much everything about Cas amusing, which is probably why they’ve never exactly got along with each other. 

“Hey, chief,” Benny says, fucking beaming at him then, for god’s sake, he salutes Cas, who’s still stood in the kitchen in the eye line of the front door looking distinctly prissy. “Castiel,” 

Cas just _looks_ at him and, yeah, Dean’s not engaging in their dick measuring contest right now (even if he _does_ have the relevant information about that), so he rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind him before any of them can engage in conversation.

It doesn’t work, though, because before he’s half way across the drive Cas has reopened the front door and is calling him back. 

“Texting is generally more successful if you have your phone,” Cas says, still looking irritated but a little less so. Dean must have put it down after getting off the phone with Sam, but instead of just handing him the damn thing like a normal person Cas makes a point of putting it Dean’s pocket himself. “Have a good evening, Dean,” Cas says, then frigging plants one on him – and it’s not a standard goodbye kiss, either, but the real Hollywood style shit - in the middle of their damn drive way, with Benny chuckling from the front seat of his car. 

“Nice staking of your territory, there Cas. Real mature.” 

“He was laughing at me.” 

“You two are killing me,” Dean says, stomach clenching because, shit, usually he finds this stuff _hilarious_. “Bye, Cas.” 

“Enjoy your girl guides,” Benny adds, rolling down his window, because he’s a complete asshole. Cas glowers at him then trudges back up to the house and, Jesus, Dean needs to sort his head out. He needs to get this _fixed_ so he can fix everything else. 

“Oh, screw you,” Dean says, before Benny can even say anything. 

“Money or sex?” Benny asks, as Dean gets into the passenger side of Benny’s car. He still lives pretty close and, anyway, Benny driving is a system they instigated a long time ago as an incentive for Benny to be sober and, somehow, it stuck. “Your handbags at dawn with everyone’s favourite angel.” 

God knows where Benny got the angelic origins of Cas’ name from. Probably Dean when he was drunk, because that sounds exactly like the kind of shit he’d start talking about when he was drunk, because drunk Dean is an absolute fucking sap. Probably years ago, too. Benny would remember that kind of bullocks. 

“Uh, sex,” Dean settles on, because it’s sure as hell not about money (although, Dean hadn’t even considered the potential cost of this… professional help crap. He’d _assumed_ it was covered in their insurance, but that’s a whole other potential argument and probably something he needs to look into, because… he’s actually pretty sure he’s gonna do it. Shit). “Kind of. It’s complicated.” 

Dean pretty much feels like his brains imploding, because he has Cas' shitty string of Google diagnostics ringing in his ears, and every single damn one of those he figured was just part of _him_. Just the bits that he tried to shove down most of the damn time with varying degrees of success, expect... except Dean loves sex. He hasn't always loved his attitude to himself after sex, and obviously he has a couple of really shitty experiences in his arsenal, but he really likes sex. Being kind of hedonistic and shallow is just part of Dean Winchester. Not his best qualities sure, but certainly not the worst out of the long damn list. But, point being, he's not the kind of guy to turn down sex with his fucking hot fiancé for six whole weeks. That's not _Dean_. It's just not in his MO. Then he can't quit thinking about Charlie's comment about the Mayfly Larvae like a hundred years ago, and about how she could tell there was something seriously up with them by when the last time they had sex was, and apparently Cas uses a similar system to work out when Dean’s not okay. 

Something’s got to change, clearly. 

“Ain’t it always,” Benny says, flicking on the engine and pulling out from his drive. “I’m sure I can keep up,” 

“Is this some kind of game to you?” 

“Yeah, brother, gotta get my kicks from somewhere,” Benny says, sending him a toothy version of his normal smile. Benny’s had a _beyond_ shitty time, lately, and… well, who the hell else is Dean gonna talk about this with? Benny will rib him for fucking all of it, sure, but he trusts him. 

“Cas wants me to go to therapy,” Dean says, which is the first time he’s ever said those words out loud. It’s not fun. His lips don’t exactly form the words easy. He feels like his stomach’s dropped out, but this is _Benny_. It’s easy to talk to Benny about this kind of crap, because he never takes any of it seriously. 

“Must have got a helluva lot kinkier since we screwed around for him to be sending you to therapy for it.” 

“What? No, shut up,” Dean says, “Separate point.” 

“Therapy, huh?” Benny asks, turning to look at him, “For anythin’ in particular,” 

Dean shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have opened his damn mouth. 

“Sure there’s a frigging list,” Dean says, as Benny pulls into the parking lot for the gym. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been _itching_ for something physically strenuous until the prospect was right upon him and how he’s goddamn _desperate_ to punch something, or lift something, or _do_ something mindless and draining. Anything that’s going to give him some kind of a lift as a go, which is probably why he’s been eating so much junk food and drinking so much damn coffee – they cut through some of the crappiness for a bit, at least. 

He doesn’t carry on the conversation until they’re mid work out, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been running over _what_ he was going to say for the last half an hour. Benny’s clearly waiting him out. 

“Cas reckons I’m depressed.” 

“You listenin’?” 

“You don’t seem surprised,” 

“I’ve reckoned you get pretty low for a while,”

“Really,” Dean deadpans, using the spark of frustration that comes from that into another bench press. He’s lost muscle, too. They hadn’t actually managed to make their weekly gym trips for ages, even though he should probably do _more_ than that, anyway. He just misses being in his early twenties and how fucking easy it used to be. 

“You want me to lie to you, chief?” 

“No,” Dean says, “I just… really? You think?” 

“He’d know better than me,” Benny shrugs. Dean sits up and reaches for a bottle of water and a little more space, because he wasn’t expecting _this_. 

“But surely I’d know better than him,” 

“Sometimes those we’re close to are better at figurin’ us out,” Benny says, “I was the last to figure I had some kind of problem. I ain’t saying it’s the same thing but… pretty easy to be blind ‘bout yourself if you just quit lookin’ in the mirror. Everyone else is stuck still lookin’ at your ugly mug every damn day,” 

“You think I’m depressed?” 

“I think you oughta work that out by yourself,” Benny says, grabbing his own bottle of water and taking a seat next on the bench next to him. “But I gotta admit, Dean, I’m struggling, how’s that get back to sex?” 

“Because we don’t,” Dean says, even though that’s almost as hard to admit to as the therapy thing, which he realises is stupid but fucking still. “When I’m…” Dean gestures vaguely at himself then pauses to take a drink of water. 

“Let me guess,” Benny says, “Seven weeks,” 

“Six,” Dean corrects, “The hell, dude?” 

“That’s how long I’ve been reckoning you’re kind of off,” Benny shrugs, “Six weeks on the Friday just gone?” 

“The Saturday,” Dean blinks, “According to Cas and, dude, that’s fucking creepy. You know way too much about my sex life.” 

“I ain’t seeing your Castiel as the type to get prissy about six weeks dry. Waited for you long enough in college. Would’ve thought he’d be suffering in silence and dealing with it on the sly.” 

“First off, he was still getting laid back then and, secondly, I’m the one who turned it into an argument. He was… what you said. And thirdly, I was _fine_ until the weekend I text you.” 

“No, brother, you weren’t,” Benny says, clapping him on the shoulder, “The proof is in the sex.” 

“I suppose you’ve got a roll in the hay scheduled every night for the rest of the damn month,” Dean mutters, standing up and stretching out. They’re doing a piss poor job of working out, too, but whatever. 

“No can do, chief. I’m on a sex ban. Rehab.” 

“Seriously?” 

"A year. Apparently I got an unhealthy relationship with sex,” 

“That code for drinking makes you kind of slutty?” 

“More the other way round,” Benny says, “Theory being, year down the line, less chance that getting down leads to me falling off the bandwagon.” 

“A year? Holy hell, Benny.” 

“Rehab aint a walk in the park,” Benny says, flashing him another smile and tipping half a bottle of water down his throat. “The therapy part aint too bad.” 

“Damn,” Dean says, “How’s… the rest of it? How’s the soon to be ex-wife? She letting you see Elizabeth?” 

“Stuck out the rehab, which she weren’t expecting, so now we’re renegotiating custody. She’s giving me every other weekend,” Benny says, and he must notice Dean’s expression, “Hell, Dean, we both know I deserve less and if I’m gonna slip up in a coupla weeks’ time, the less disruption for ‘Lizabeth the better.” 

“That a risk?” 

“Here’s hoping not,” 

“Sorry I didn’t do more to help. Haven’t exactly been there for you for a while.” 

“Truth is Dean, I wasn’t looking for help. Was looking for the next drink. You did what you could. Now, we gonna actually do so work?” 

“Should work on your arm muscles,” Dean says, standing up and setting down his water again, “You’re gonna be needing them.” 

“Maybe I’ll ask your fiancé for tips,” Benny says, following suit and sending him a grin. 

“Fuck you,” 

“You take care of your angel, chief. You still got energy left when you’re done, then we’ll talk.” 

“Maybe next year,” 

“I’ll hold you to it,” Benny grins, clapping him on the shoulder before heading to the cross trainer. Dean gives himself a minute to think then decides, actually, he’d rather not think right now of that’s at all possible. He can think later. 

* 

By the time Benny’s dropped him back off home, he’s back to freaking out all over again. The exercise helped, but he feels like likes he’s on the edge of making an actual decision about all of this and he needs a little time to process without Benny hovering in the background. Or Cas, actually, because he’s probably going to want to complain about how irritating Garth is, which Dean could have told him before he signed up to help out with his stupid Scouts group, but at that point they’d just had their second adoption rejection and Cas decided he actually _believed_ their assessment that they’d be shit parents. So, the guy decided to practice. At scouts. With Garth. The whole thing was fucking ridiculous from the off, but sort of adorable, too, so Dean just rolled his eyes and let him get on with it. That doesn’t mean he particularly wants to hear about it now, though, because he’s got a hundred other things to think about which don’t involve Garth. 

He winds up getting in the impala. It’s probably several kinds of dumb how much it helps him to think clearly, but it does. 

Sam says he’s sounded off for weeks. Apparently he’s barely been answering his phone. Benny’s noticed. He’s got a number of wracked up missed calls from Bobby and Charlie that he’s barely acknowledged, so they’ve probably noticed something’s up too. A guy from fucking work asked him if he was okay thirty minutes into his shift this morning. Obviously, Cas noticed, because he see’s Dean every damn day… but he’s barely _seen_ Benny lately. If Sam can tell he’s not okay all the way from frigging California, then… then it’s a hell of a lot worse than he thought it was. 

Something has to change. Something’s got to give. He can’t carry on worrying Cas and Sam and frigging Benny and acting like he doesn’t know this is a problem. It is a damn problem, it’s just he’s still pretty sure that it’s an innate character flaw, but… if there’s a _chance_ he can do something to help, then… 

The image of Cas _shaking_ the first time he bought it up is seared in his memory forever. Deans’ never getting over how damn moved the guy was even trying to broach the topic, because how _can_ he? 

He texts Sam asking him how long he’s thought Dean’s sounded ‘off’ ( _and don’t ask any questions about it, Sam, just give me a straight answer_ ) then manages to get his shaking fingers to type the word _depression_ into google. 

In theory, he can see why having a name for feeling too damn broken to function might give some people peace of mind, but he’s not all that convinced that he’s one of those people. In practice, he’d rather delete the word from the fucking lexicon then be googling it, but… shit, he’s got to do _something_. The way they’re living right now isn’t sustainable. If he could _stop_ feeling like this… goddamnit, the number of times he’s scared himself stupid thinking about all the things he’d do for it to _stop_ , but apparently this is harder. It _shouldn’t_ be. That’s not how it should work. He should be jumping at this. 

Dean heart’s beating triple time and he feels vaguely sick, but he’s still actually researching depression in his damn car. Whiskey would probably make it bearable, but it’s a long time since he’s allowed himself to have actual alcohol in his hipflask. Shit, but Dean’s a fucking mess, and he can’t imagine what John Winchester would think about Dean sitting in his damn inheritance googling _mental health issues_ , but he’s been working on admitting that what he would have thought doesn’t really matter. What a bunch of ignorant red necks would think about it doesn’t matter. What teenager Dean would have thought about it doesn’t matter, because what matters is _Sam_ and _Cas_ and the life they’re building together when Dean’s stupid fucking head isn’t busy screwing them over. 

He scrolls down past the medical shit, because he got enough of that from Cas to get the general idea, and winds up on some forum. A place where people go on the internet to whine about how depressed their feeling sounds like the exact fucking opposite of somewhere he wants to be anywhere near, but he’s looking for something a little more _human_ and this was his first option that wasn’t some medical definition. 

It’s awful. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t make it any easier to _think_ about the prospect of any of it, but he does feel like he’s edging closer to a panic attack, which is just awesome. Fuck and _fuck_. 

Sam texts him back saying _about a month and a half? You stopped answering my texts like a month ago and only restarted last week_. He’s actually respected his request not to ask why, but that’s not what Dean’s focusing on. Instead, he drops his phone onto his lap and rests his head against the steering wheel. Shit. 

If he were to pull a Cas and keep track of signs that his head was going dark side, he’d have picked not answering Sam’s phone calls on the first ring as the first one. Then he’d list pushing the rest of his family out, then pushing Cas out. Sex would be there, too, because he’s not… he’s not completely ignorant about any of that shit. He hasn’t got any kind of motivation, let alone the motivation for sex, it’s just… it took him surprise that he’s been in this rut that long. Drinking more. Cancelling plans, especially anyone who wasn’t Benny. He’s a little better at keeping appointments with Benny, but only marginally. Then losing interest in food. Then losing interests in everything. He’s prone to wallowing whether or not he’s low, but the second he starts dredging up old conversations with John Winchester they’ve got some kind of problem. Replaying all the other times he’s felt shitty and using them as proof that he’s worthless and trapped and never getting away from the stupid _it_ , till hope feels like such an alien concept that he doesn’t even want it anymore. It just sounds painful and liable to let him down. Sleeping more. It taking three cups of coffee and a pep-talk till he can complete basic daily activities. 

They’re supposed to be having a kid, or two, or however many they adoption people allow them to have. Cas is supposed to be someone’s Dad and get prissy with bad teachers at parents evenings. Dean’s supposed to teach them how to keep the impala in check, so he knows someone’s gonna treat her right. He’s _supposed_ to be happy. He’s _supposed_ to be happy with Cas right now, not sat outside in his car having a damn crisis. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, sliding into the passenger side of his parked car and, fucking hell, he doesn’t know why Cas puts up with Dean acting so frigging crazy. It’s just easier to think in the impala. His baby certainly doesn’t care what kind of professional fucking health Dean’s getting, as long as he keeps treating her right. 

He hasn’t even been doing a good job of _that_ lately. She needs a tune up and a decent wax, but he’d barely even considered it. 

Cas probably heard Benny's car drop him off a good half an hour ago. God knows what he thought Dean was doing. 

“Two conditions,” Dean says, voice coming out a lot hoarser than he was expecting, “Scratch that, three conditions. It’s gotta be covered by our insurance. We’re not paying for this bullcrap.” 

“It is,” 

Of course Cas would already have checked. 

“If it’s gonna dent our adoption application, then I’m out. We’re screwed enough as it is without me having to declare that I’m fucked in the head on the paperwork.” 

“I will check,” 

“And you’ve gotta butt out and let me deal with it,” Dean says, “I’m not hashing it out with some whack job therapist and then reliving the whole thing all over again with you when I’m out. You wait for me to bring it up. I’m not gonna totally push you out, I just need some room. It’s my messed up head, it’s my business, capisce?” 

“I capisce,” Cas says, smiling slightly, “I’m proud of you, Dean.” 

“None of that crap, either,” Dean says, letting out a shaky breath and griping the steering wheel, tight. He feels beyond shitty right now, but at least apart of him is _glad_ that he’s giving up and admitting he’s the kind of failure who needs help to be happy (and, yeah, Cas probably wouldn’t like the way he’s internally processing it, but if Cas policed Dean’s thought they wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place). 

“What changed your mind?” 

“Think I was more or less there,” Dean says, “but then Sam noticed. Benny noticed. Pretty sure you’re about to die from sexual frustration, too.” 

“You realise that’s a myth made up by horny teenage boys,” Cas says, voice deep and gorgeous and laced with amusement, like it always is when Cas is teasing him about something, which is good. It’s better than Cas getting all teary and waxing (more) poetic about how proud he is, because he’d rather they both pretended like this wasn’t a big deal. “You cannot actually die from not orgasming.” 

“Still, don’t wanna risk it,” Dean says, releasing his grip on the steering wheel to look at him, “That and the state of my car. Dude, don’t laugh at me, my car is a metaphor for my _life_. I’m having a revelation over here.” 

“Well, I hate to interrupt you receiving revelation, but dinners ready.” 

“You cooked?” 

“I cook,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “When you’re in the dog house,” 

“I wasn’t aware I wasn’t,” Cas says, “I made pizza,” 

“Pizza, huh? You are trying to get back in my good books,” Dean says, “Talk to me next time, okay?” 

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, then he’s leaning across to lean on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s not sure if that’s a natural Cas-movement or if the guy’s still trying to let Dean be his conception of the man, but it’s enough to have Dean realising that he’s exhausted and hungry and very comfortable. 

“And, uh, sorry,” Dean says, which has Cas lifting his head from his shoulder to arch an eyebrow into a question. “For the… you know, unexpected abstinence.” Cas rolls his eyes rather than replying and returns to his place on Dean’s shoulder. “And I dunno when that’s gonna change. I feel like the exact opposite of sexy right now. Don’t even know what the exact opposite is, but I’m feelin’ it.” Cas shifts closer to him and rests a hand on his knee, which Dean’s taking to mean that Cas doesn’t care. He knew that, anyway, but the confirmation is nice. “Everything’s gonna be fine, right?” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “Except the pizza. The pizza is going to be cold.” 

Dean’s pretty sure he couldn’t have dreamed Cas up in a million years and, god, but Dean loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that a nine to five would take up a lot more time than unemployment?? Startling stuff.
> 
> AKA. Writing will be slooowwwwwwww until I have worked out a new balance. Also, I should be writing OF right now. Like, for real. Whoops.


	6. Chapter 6

"Cas, what the hell are you doing to my ass?" Dean asks, face half burrowed in his pillow. Cas’ alarm went off a few minutes ago, but Dean’s pretty sure they’d both been awake for a long ass time before Cas started well and truly invading his side of the bed. Dean’s still pretty much in denial that he has to get up and fucking deal and Cas’ is providing both a distraction and a reminder that they actually have to get up, which is sufficient to give him a headache. Today was always going to be shitty.

“It's an ass massage,”

“Dude, you are so frigging weird,” Dean says, not moving as Cas continues frigging groping him. He gets that Cas is trying to make the beginning of this crappy day a little better, but the effort is probably going to be wasted. Still. 

“I like your ass,”

“I like your ears, don't mean I'm gonna give them a damn massage.” 

“You like my ears?” Cas asks, hands smoothing over the curve of hips, then his lower thighs. He sounds appropriately amused which is probably fair because, shit, Dean talks a lot of crap when he’s this groggy. And, fucking damnit, he still feels hollow and empty and like his internal organs have been pulverised. Illogical as he knew it was, he’d been holding onto the hope that he’d wake up and feel okay so they could cancel this stupid appointment and go back to their goddamn lives.

It’s _always_ happened before. It doesn’t usually take this long, maybe, and it was more of a process than some magical wand waving, but there’d be a distinct point where he’d wake up and be _happy_ and free and grateful. No dice, though, which means he’s actually got to go through it.

“Shut up, I just woke up.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums, and Dean can hear that he’s smiling in the damn him, then the guy throws a leg over Dean to get better access to his back, or whatever the hell else Cas wants to do. “I also like your skin,”

“Yeah, that stuffs pretty handy,” Dean agrees, as Cas starts pressing kisses up his spine, hands trailing up his sides where he's borderline ticklish. Cas skips the worst of those zones though, instead moving up to his shoulders. None of it’s _sexual_ , really (and Dean’s not sure how Cas manages it), it’s just… affectionate and tactile and _nice_. Cas can’t think he’s a disgusting or repulsive screw up, because otherwise he wouldn’t be so insistent on touching him. “Enjoying yourself there, Cas?”

“Immensely,” Cas says, kissing back down his spine, “I have to go to work,” 

“Uhuh,” 

“I will meet you at there,” Cas says, which has Dean groaning because, damnit, he thought they were going to make it through the whole morning without talking about it. He thought Cas going all fucking petting-zoo on him would at least mean they didn’t have to _talk_ about it too.

“Any chance I can talk you out of it?”

“Absolutely none,” Cas says, voice still the shade of deep it always is when he’s just woken up. Dean’s not sure he’d go as far as to say it was his favourite, but he does fucking love his voice like that.

“Come on, man, you'll just be sat outside waiting for me.” Dean says, removing his face from his pillow to look at him. Cas obliges by giving him the space to move, but then Dean has a full frontal view of Cas’ not-quite-pitying expression, which doesn’t help with how little motivation he has for this whole fucking day.

“So?”

“At _least_ let me pick you up on the way instead. Bringing two cars just for you to sit in the frigging waiting room is just...”

“If it will make you feel better.”

“Not as much as you letting me deal with this on my own,” Dean mutters, “But, fine, we made a deal. You wanna waste your evening, whatever. Not my problem. You jumping in the shower?” Cas frowns at him before nodding. “I’m joining you in a minute.” Cas’ frown deepens. “Dude, I’m not trying to frigging jump you. I could use the distraction. And even if _was_ that’s my call.”

“I would like to think I have some say in it,”

“About your participation, yeah,” Dean says, “Go, Cas. You’re hovering and it’s damned annoying.”

“I love you,”

“I love pie and I don’t feel the need to go on about it all the damn time,” Dean says, reaching for his phone. He’s got a couple of texts from Charlie that he hasn’t yet worked up the energy to reply to and a few new emails, but nothing he isn’t planning on ignoring until tomorrow. It’s mostly to have an excuse to look _away_ from Cas. The guy is pretty much Dean’s everything, but that doesn’t mean the penetrating stare shit is welcome every second of their lives. He can’t handle it right now, it just makes his lungs constrict.

“That’s grossly inaccurate,” Cas says, “Don’t be too long.”

“Yeah, yeah, missing you already, needy asshole,” Dean throws back, pretending to read the message from Charlie again – some long spiel about how she’s pumped about the wedding and various questions about said wedding that Dean doesn’t know the answer to – because he needs a few moments to himself to _think_. He’s going to _see someone_ about his screwed up head today, but first he’s gotta spend the whole damn day at work marinating in that knowledge. It was always going to be a crap day, but it just sucks that he still feels like shit.

He gives himself to the count of thirty, then gives himself another thirty, to get himself feeling slightly less sick and slightly less like staying in bed and calling the whole thing off. Then he gets the hell out of bed and joins Cas for the last few minutes of his shower.

*

Castiel actually takes his morning break (it is ‘strongly discouraged’ by Zachariah, because Zachariah is a massive fucking dickbag) and spends it texting him inane pointless shit and a photo of the latest office email chain that’s only funny because Cas finds it funny. Dean calls Bobby at lunch under the guise of asking about wedding arrangements (like he gives a fuck), but mostly because it’s been a fucking age and he feels a lot like he’s falling apart, he’s got forty five minutes to kill and the whole day has been _crawling_. Bobby doesn’t know about his stupid doctor’s appointment, which makes him a better phone call option than Benny or Cas, and is less likely to actually want to talk about the goddamn wedding arrangements like Sam, so is an infinitely better distraction.

Then he sends Cas a picture of the bad pun on his sandwich cause he feels bad for how few of the guy’s messages he’s actually responded to today. He doesn’t want Cas thinking he doesn’t appreciate it, he just doesn’t have all that much to say about anything right now. Answering one of Cas’ many text messages will feel like acknowledging everything that’s happened. 

It’s a long day, but the constant stream of dumb messages keeps him from having an absolute frigging breakdown at work. The second he hits five PM he wishes he was back at the beginning of the damn day, though, because then he’s gotta pick Cas up from work and drive to this stupid appointment, which he doesn’t want to do. He’d rather deal with another eight weddings that sit down in some doctor’s office and talk about how much he’s letting his incredible fiancé down by being miserable and sexually incompetent and unable to go to work or get out of bed every day.

*

It goes down exactly like the woman on the phone said it would do: he has an appointment with a doctor with no fucking idea about mental health, who refers him to some psychiatrist who actually theoretically does have some kind of idea about it. He _wasn’t_ expecting the guy to actually prescribe him some low grade anti-depressants whilst he was at it, though, which has him _blinking_ at the guy as he gives him the don’t-abuse-the-drugs-talk, even if Dean’s pretty sure the guy is doing so just by giving him them in the first fucking place. He was ready to start arguing semantics with damn doctor, but, fuck, he told Cas he _would try_ , and if that involves holding his tongue so he doesn’t get kicked out the doc’s office, then he’ll grit his teeth and stay quiet. He doesn’t have to take the fucking things. He’s not really planning to acknowledge their existence at all, because that involves having to making an actual decision about whether or not to actually take them and… no. That ain’t happening.

It’s not exactly a long appointment, but he walks out with a psychiatrist appointment scheduled for Thursday and a fucking prescription. 

“Dean,” Cas says, standing up the second he walks out of office. Dean just thrusts his stupid appointment card and his prescription at Cas and then goes to join the queue in the pharmacy. It’s not just _Cas_ and Benny (and probably Sam, if Dean ever chose to discuss it with him) who thinks he’s depressed, there was an actual medical professional who apparently needed under ten minutes to be convinced, too. Fuck and fuck to all of it.

Cas doesn’t question the fact that he’s actually cashing in his prescription, which is probably for the best. Cas is occasionally pretty wise about when and when not to open his damn mouth. Instead, he takes a few seconds to fall into step with him in the queue.

“That was relatively quick,”

“Well the guy didn’t exactly do anything,” Dean mutters back, which means he’s got to relive this whole thing all over again on Thursday, which he is sure as shit not looking forward. That time he’s actually got to talk about the crap in his head, in depth, with whichever Tom, Dick or Harry they decide to assign him too.

"How are you feeling?" Cas asks, as they shuffle forward in the queue. Dean's not sure whether he's standing so close for Dean's benefit or for his own, but he doesn't really care. At some point he stopped thinking of that kind of stuff as PDA but just the natural way they gravitate around each other; it's not a display of affection as much as a display of reassurance. He's not about to regulate his behaviour for other people. He’s too old and too comfortable in his relationship to be wasting time thinking about it.

"I'm feeling like you need to take me home and fuck so hard my brain whites out," Dean says, which just happens to be when the person in front exits the queue, leaving Dean face to face with the pharmacist. She raises an eyebrow as he passes her the damn thing, and Dean's het up enough that he feels like screaming that there's nothing wrong with a dude liking being fucked, thank you very much, and that he ain't judging her sex life. Cas has a hand on his arm before he can speak though, which is probably for the best. He does deliver her a sarcastic smile and a thanks he barely means when she hands over the damn canister, though.

Cas kisses him when they're out in the car park. First his lips, then his forehead. It's enough to make his chest hurt, because Cas is so good to him.

He spins his car keys through his fingers as he tries to work out whether he's good to drive or not. Back in the docs office he'd been thinking that there was no way he could (which may have been part of the reason why he insisted he pick Cas up), but that kiss was a stabiliser. Cas is happy. Cas is happy that Dean is taking proactive steps to stop feeling shitty. That’s enough.

"I'm not saying I'm gonna take them."

"That's fine," 

Dean spins the keys again and catches them in his fingers, figuring he'd rather be in the driver’s seat than anxiously watching Cas drive his baby, which he still doesn’t allow often. It _has_ happened, but rarely and with a lot of frigging stress on both of their behalves.

"This what you were imagining your life would be like a month before you got hitched?"

"Sitting with you in the Impala? Yes."

Dean drives with one hand on Cas' knee all the way home.

*

“Earlier,” Cas says, when they’re back through the front door and he’s strongly considering flushing the anti-depressants buried in his pocket down the fucking toilet, because at least then he won’t have to think about them. “When you mildly scarred the pharmacist,”

“Dude, that was _tame_ ,” Dean says, but he has Cas taking a step into his personal space and then he sends him one of _those_ looks which Dean has just been failing to compute for the past however long it’s been since they last had sex (six weeks three days, but whatever, it’s not like it matters), but he’s actually processing that look right now and… huh. 

“Do you want me to fuck you so hard your brain whites out?” Castiel asks and, damn, but that’s a question and a half. And Cas looks fucking amazing asking it, even though he’s just in his regular work gear on a fairly inconsequential Monday. 

“You’re not gonna decide for me? Figure you know what’s going on in my head better than I know myself? Answer the question for me?”

“No,” Castiel says.

“No?”

“I’m respecting your wishes,” Cas says, which is just… well, it shouldn’t be hot. It’s not that he hasn’t thought Cas was hot for the past weeks, he just hasn’t had the urge to do anything about it. Right now, though, what he _wants_ is for Cas to frigging carry him upstairs and take him. To be fair, Cas has been saying for years that respect is an aphrodisiac. 

Dean undoes his flies rather than answer the damn question, but Cas swots his hand away before he can get any further. Then he has one of Cas’ hands in his boxers before he can even think, whilst the other is cupping his jaw to bring him in for a kiss.

“Eager, huh,” Dean smirks, “Almost like you haven’t got any for a while.”

“Shush, Dean. Let me take care of you.” 

Dean’s sorely tempted to shoot a wisecrack back and he’s _definitely_ into this, so maybe they’re on the upswing of all this bullshit after all. He feels shitty, sure, but he’s pretty sure that’s a side effect of seeking medical help for some kind of maybe-depression and might not be the maybe-depression thing right this second. It. He doesn’t feel _cursed_ right now, even if he’s not exactly top of his game.

Cas cuts him off with another kiss before he can make the wisecrack remark, though, which is how, thirty minutes later, he winds up feeling like he’s been split in two, in the best way, sweaty, nearly breathless and muttering ‘right there’ into Cas’ ear, three quarters of the way onto the damn bed.

And Cas, the fucking bastard, stops moving to look him right in the eye. He’s not exactly well composed either, but as much as Dean hates admitting it, Cas has a killer poker-face. If he wasn’t well-versed in all things Castiel, he might even be convinced that Cas is almost _unaffected_ by the fact that he’s got Dean spread out and stupid underneath him.

“Dean, do you really think that after _nine years_ , I don’t know where your prostate is?”

“You are so,” Dean says, losing half the next word to a hitched breath, “Arrogant.” 

“Is it arrogance when I’m this good?” Cas says, then he’s moving again. It’s absolutely not what he asked for, because he’s definitely thinking plenty, and Cas is taking his fucking time as per the last nine years. His brain is well and truly still engaged but, really, there’s a lot worse things for him to be thinking about than how awesome it is that they still actually mess around when they mess around. Plus, it’s difficult to care when Cas is gorgeous and sweaty and smirking at him (and, you know, actually frigging _inside him_ ).

“Fuck,” Dean hisses.

“Hmm?”

“Fuck you,” Dean corrects, “So full of it.”

“Actually…” Cas begins and Dean knows exactly where _that’s_ going, and there’s been enough screwing around and not nearly enough actual screwing going on, so Dean cuts him off by pulling him down for a heated kiss before he can continue fucking talking. There’s a time and a place, even if Cas was never any good at respecting the sanctity of their sex life (which Dean _loves_ , generally, because it means they’ve had any number of hilarious conversation in the middle of the act).

When he gets out of bed later, Cas has put the anti-depressants in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, which is probably more logical than flushing them down the toilet. 

*

He's emotionally drained and feels slightly hollow after his second psychiatric appointment and he's compensating by being irritable. Dean's pretty sure the only reason they're not arguing about Dean being a dick right now is the fact that Cas is pulling his irritating patience routine and being super-understanding about his frigging therapy, even if he’d come out of his first appointment feeling largely fine. That was probably because he did the stupid questionnaire thing in the waiting room and then spent the whole appointment trying to distract call-me-Chuck from asking about his actual problems, meaning the whole thing was relatively painless but, also, absolutely pointless. This time, he’d actually made an attempt to co-operate and now he feels like his brains been pulverised. 

"You're in a bad mood,"

"Cas, I know you skipped a few chapters in the socialising handbook, but that's improved exactly no one’s mood ever," Dean says, from where he’s furiously dicing onions in the kitchen. He is in a bad mood. Letting someone into his life and his shitty moods who he knows exactly nothing about him is not his idea of a good time and it goes against every single one of his instincts. He had to fight to stay in the damn psychiatrist’s office. The only good thing to be said about it is the fact that Chuck seemed to appreciate how much _effort_ Dean was putting in just to keep himself sat there, especially after the previous week. 

“Just ask if you wanna ask, dude, instead of hovering.”

“You said you didn’t want me to ask,”

“Just ask,” Dean rolls his eyes.

"How was it?" Cas says. Dean puts down his knife (it feels like a bad idea to be still holding the thing, even if he’s not sure why) and turns round to face him with a grimace.

"Me and Chuck are working as a team," Dean says, with enough angry sarcasm that he almost chokes on it. He's got a forced smile on and his fists clenched. "Towards my short term and long terms goals." Cas looks utterly unperturbed by Dean’s tone of voice, like he was expecting Dean to act like the whole thing was a bad joke. 

"Which are?"

"Short term, get through this damn wedding without a fucking breakdown,” Dean says, forced humour crossing straight over to frustration. It was a poor effort, anyway. 

That gets Cas’ forehead creasing into a frown.

"We don’t have to have a wedding,” Cas says and he probably means it too, because _obviously_ Cas cares more about Dean’s mental well-being than the money, time and effort that has gone into this stupid fucking thing. 

“Should’ve gone to frigging Vegas when we had the chance,” Dean says, and his head hurts, “But it’s nearly done.”

“Three weeks four days,”

“And we’d break Sam’s heart,” Dean adds, glancing back at the onions before swallowing and deciding that food is going to have to wait. They’ve started talking about stuff, so it’ll probably be easier to barrel on through than try and start it at a later date. “Which brings me onto my _therapy homework_.”

“You have therapy homework,” Cas repeats.

“New rule,” Dean says, “I’m allowed to mock Chuck’s grand ideas, you’re not. Capisce?”

“Of course,” Cas agrees, “What’s the assignment?”

“Talk to you,” Dean grunts, “About the current biggest stress in my life,”

“Gabriel shortly becoming your brother in law?” Castiel asks. The fact that Cas is deflecting even when this is part of Dean's frigging therapy is a mark of how much they've both been avoiding talking about this, because Cas might the be the most supportive anyone has ever been about therapy ever. There's no way that Cas doesn't know what he's talking about, either. The fact that he's not meeting his eye is the biggest confirmation.

Dean's stomach feels like it's dropped out. He fucking hates that he has to be the one to bring it up. It's worse than sitting through another hour of damn therapy. He’d take perpetual, eternal weddings over bringing this up, but he’s self-aware enough to know that Chuck _is_ right about this. Dean’s the one who said he couldn’t handle it in the first place, Chuck just asked him if he was gonna actually do something about it.

“Cas, I know you don’t wanna talk about it,” Dean says, “And all we do is frigging argue when we _do_ talk about it… but it’s been three years.”

“I know. What do you want to say?" Cas says, only his voice sounds hollow, off, completely un-Cas like. This is the Castiel he gets when he’s _sad_ about his none existent father, or Naomi, or Michael and Lucifer’s continued disagreements. It’s worse than Cas shaking and emotional. This is Cas defeated. "Dean, please,"

"I don't wanna do this,"

"I've known we need to talk about this for a long time," Cas says, sending him a poor imitation of a smile. "It's okay, Dean."

Dean grits his teeth and tries to hold back a little of how much he currently hates himself.

"I can't wait for the adoption people to accept us indefinitely, Cas, it's fucking killing me. I know you've got faith that it's all gonna work out, but I feel like this faith is _crucifying me_ every time they call us, or don't call us,"

"I know," Cas says, leaning forwards, "I'm having doubts about whether it will ever happen too." 

That makes his breath catch and his lungs constrict, because he wasn't expecting Cas to be on the abandon all hope team. It makes sense that he doesn't know, though, because they don't talk about it. They haven’t properly sat down and talked about it for frigging ages. Not since they were excited and hopeful and actually had a little bit of faith that they were gonna be someone’s parents.

"It just… sucks,"

"It does suck, Cas agrees, eyes shining slightly, "It _sucks_." Cas says, hands settling on Dean's stomach. The touch is helpful.

"Man, I just, I don't think it's doing us any good. I know I'm in a rut, but even when I'm okay it's making us both fucking miserable. It’s destroying you, Cas. We argue about it. We're not getting anywhere."

"I know," Cas says, deep and sad and frowning, "What do you want to do?"

"I'm not ready to give this up. Maybe I'm just a sucker for punishment, but... I want it so bad, Cas. I wanna raise a family with you in this house.”

"I want it to, Dean."

“Guess we don’t always get what we want,” Dean says, jaw clenching. He looks away because Cas looks like it’s at the end of the damn world, which it sort of is in a sense, because this was _supposed_ to be their world. This was the big dream. What they’ve been working towards.

“You don’t want to give up,” Cas prompts, business like and solid. “But you think it’s unhealthy for either of us to continue pinning everything on this.”

"Maybe we set a time limit."

"That sounds wise."

"Then sit down and talk about other options."

"What options?" Cas sighs, his solid persona breaking slightly. He doesn’t break the physical contact though, which is just necessary.

"Kidnaping? Getting a dog? Surrogacy? I dunno, dude, but we can't keep doing this until we time out and they start telling us we're too old."

“We discussed and disregarding all those options,” 

“To be fair,” Dean says, forcing his voice to sound remotely jovial, “I don’t think we actually talked about kidnapping.”

"Till the end of the year to have our initial application accepted?” Cas asks, looking every bit as miserable as Dean feels about the whole thing… but it’s got to be done. There’s no other way round it. It hasn’t happened yet and they have more reasons to think it will continue to not happen than to think they’re due their miracle. 

"Yeah," Dean says, swallowing. "Four months. Okay. Okay."

"Are you okay?"

"No," Dean says, "You?"

"Not really," Cas agrees, lips tilting downwards, his palms still flat against Dean's chest. He sucks in a deep breath and blinks. Dean's chest really fucking hurts, but there's no fixing anything. 

"I don’t wanna give up on this, Cas, I just… we’re gonna break us.”

“I know,” Cas frowns, and then they’re just holding each other in the damn kitchen. This is so raw and shitty and he actually has a good _reason_ to feel crap about it, but that doesn’t make him feel better about any of it. “This is the best way.”

"Can we just, I don't know, cuddle and all that junk?" Dean sighs, glancing back at the onions. The fights been knocked out of him and he can't really remember what he was gonna cook, but potentially maybe giving up on their whole dream just fucking sucks and there’s not a lot of room left for him to care about shit like food.

Cas throws his arms around Dean’s neck desperately enough that Dean winds up taking a couple of steps backwards to steady himself, by which point he’s already automatically wrapped his arms around Cas’ back and has his face buried in his neck.

They defrost something for dinner in the end and eat curled up together over on the sofa. By the time they’re done, Cas seems a little more cheerful and is looking at him with a soft slightly surprised smile that makes Dean want to stab himself, because Cas’ affection is so obviously misplaced and almost frigging _patronising_ when directed at Dean and this current evening. 

“What?” Dean snaps. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to respond so positively to therapy,”

“This is positive?” Dean asks, scowling at him. “First week, I spent the whole damn session talking about you,”

“About me?” Cas frowns.

“Beat talking about me,” Dean shrugs, “I was just trying to get him off my back. You were a good enough topic as any.”

“That’s very romantic,” Cas says, smiling into his collarbone. Cas is still definitely still all up on his mission to make Dean feel like _a man_ or whatever via their cuddling positions, which Dean is definitely not going to take issue with this particular evening. 

“Then Wednesday night I realised I was just wasting both of our times. If I’m in, I gotta be in. There’s no frigging point me turning up if I’ve already decided its bullcrap and I’m not even gonna try. I’m not saying I think it’ll work,” Dean says, “But…”

“So today?” 

“Model fucking pupil,”

“Really?”

“Well,” Dean says, swallowing, fingers skating over Cas’ shoulder bones. “I told him I thought he was talking out of his ass but, hey, at least I was honest. He gave some spiel about how that was important if we were gonna ‘work together.’ I just wanna get this done so I never have to go back.”

“Dean, you know it may not work like that.”

“Let me have my denial, Cas,” Dean says, closing his eyes for a second. He can deal with fucking cooperating with his damn therapist – psychiatrist, whatever the hell he wants to call himself – as long as this is short term. He’s going to do whatever the hell Chuck asks him to do and then he’s gonna be fine. That’s how it’s got to work. “He wants me to take the pills. As a short term measure.”

“Are you going to?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“You realise taking medication for this is just as legitimate for taking medication for any other illness.”

“Not overjoyed about the world illness but, whatever. I mean, I wanna get back to normal so I thought about it but, dude, have you seen the side effects for those things? Weight gain, nausea, insomnia, erectile dysfunction. Dude, I have enough problems in my life without taking happy pills that means I can't get it up. Already feel like I'm a failure for you not getting your five a day."

“Dean it's been a very long time since we managed anything like five a day.”

“Aren’t you a ray of frigging sunshine?” Dean asks, sighing and pulling Cas closer. “And I don’t wanna put on weight.”

“More than you don’t want to be…low,”

“Well, no,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “But I’ve felt a hell of a lot worse than I do right now. I dunno, Cas, I’ll work it out.”

“What are your long term goals?” Cas asks, which has Dean completely baffled for a few seconds, before Cas clarifies, “You said you were working with Chuck towards your short and long term goals.”

“Oh, post wedding he wants us to work that out and probably do CBT. Which sounds like crap, but is supposed to be –”

“– very effective,”

“Right,” Dean says, “Of course you know that, you frigging geek. Well, this has been _buckets_ of fun, but you think we could do something else with the rest of this evening? Park all this serious crap to one side and actually have a good time?”

*

He wakes up feeling about as bad as he felt in the days after John Winchester died. 

They have four months until they’re accepting defeat and admitting that adoption is not gonna happen for them. He gets that most of the problems the adoption people have had with them are not _his_ fault, or even Cas’ fault, they’re literally just stupid arbitrary hoops that they want them to jump through. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like his personal failure. Cas could have shacked up with some woman and have a whole frigging brood if he wanted. Dean’s pretty sure he would have wanted to go down the adoption route anyway, because he’s not all that hot on the idea of some poor kid having his genes, especially if it means that kid might ever feel as bad as he does right this second, but… fuck, he wants it so bad. The _idea_ of it felt so perfect. Them and a couple of kids who had kind of a rough start, being a proper family. Sharing the frigging love. 

Cas is already up, as usual, and is probably seconds away from leaving to go for work and Dean absolutely does not want to be alone right now. He doesn’t want it enough that he actually manages to get out of bed and downstairs in a reasonable time frame, then he stops at the bottom of the stairs and is hit by another wave of _hopelessness_. It’s like it’s already drained him. Bled him dry. 

"Cas, can you come back to bed a minute?" Dean asks from the doorway to their kitchen. Cas is already suited and booted and wearing his trench coat, but he must hear something in Dean's voice that means he doesn't even question it. He sounds like his nerves have all been stripped away. Broken. Cas stares owlishly at him for a few seconds before he delivers his 'of course, Dean.' He's going to make him late, which Cas hates him doing, but he doesn't much look like he's thinking about that as he follows Dean back up to their bedroom.

He doesn't ask what's wrong, which is fucking incredible, just kicks off his shoes, shrugs off his top two layers and slips back into bed. Dean really fucking needs someone to hold him right now, and he's so grateful that Cas appeared to get that memo. 

Except the relief that _something_ is able to cut through, at least a little, the black hole in his chest hurts a lot more than he was expecting. The tears come before he's had a chance to stop them. He's a fucking mess, burying his face in Castiel's work shirt so at least he can't see him crying, even if the way his shoulders are shaking is giving him away anyway. He's not even sure where the tears are coming, except that it's that dark, ugly place in his chest that he pretends isn't there. He really does hate himself. He's not sure he ever realised quite how much until right this second and that's terrifying and awful and then he's just clinging on to Cas and _trying not to cry_.

"This is what you're not supposed to see," Dean says, as the tears keep on rolling. It just... its just he woke up and all his hope and enthusiasm didn't wake up, too. He feels dead, except that dead probably wouldn’t hurt this much.

"I would rather be here than you be alone."

"Cas," Dean mutters, rolling onto his back with Cas still just about holding him. "The way I feel... I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

Cas doesn't say anything. There's nothing that he can say, so Dean's grateful. He barely even has room to feel ashamed about the fucking crying, because everything else is all consuming. He's just _sad_. Replaying the greatest hits of Dean Winchester fuck ups, writing more eulogies for his Dad, wondering what the hell Mary Winchester would have thought about this. He’s not going to be a Dad. The four months are going to roll by and they’re going to give up, because not giving up and so damn hard.

It hasn't been this bad for a while.

"You should get to work," Dean says, when the tears have dried up. He doesn't feel any less awful, but the awfulness feels less pressing. He feels approximately like he’s going to be able to hold his shit together without Cas holding him.

"Please take the anti-depressants, Dean."

"Go to work, Cas."

"I should stay,"

"No, you shouldn't. You should go," Dean says, which gets Cas openly starting at him. He can just about register, through the hazy shitty feeling that’s making processing anything but how awful he feels a whole lot of effort, that Cas is significantly shaken up by his most recent display of being screwed up.

"I don't want to leave you,” Cas says, still staring at him, his gaze far too open and too vulnerable and too _worried_. 

"One of us shouldn't be screwing our responsibilities."

"I want to help,"

"Then listen to me when I say that you hanging around watching me try to deal with my fucked up head won't make me feel any better. Yeah, I wanted you to hang around here a little longer, but right now I want you to go to work." Cas looks at him. "You feeling reassured now you got the front row ticket to the freak show?" Dean asks, "No, you're just worrying even more, which is exactly why you _don't_ get to know about this."

“Dean,”

“I will take the fucking anti-depressants if you go to work right now,” Dean says, standing up (and shit, that has his stomach clenching painfully) and heading towards the bathroom. Then he’s reading the back of the stupid packet like he hasn’t already read it fifteen times over.

“That’s a terrible reason to take medication,”

“So report me to the responsible medication taking police,” Dean says, emptying one onto his hand before registering that he’s definitely not going to be able to dry swallow them. “If it stops me feeling like _this_ then…” Dean continues, now headed to the kitchen to get a glass water, with Cas still fucking following him.

He swallows the damn thing with some water before he realises he’s shaking.

“You’re supposed to take them with food,” Cas says, because of course Cas memorised the damn instructions too.

“I know,”

“Let me make you something to eat,” Cas says. He must catch Dean’s look, because he adds a quantifier. “Then I will go to work, I promise.”

“Okay,” Dean says, then he lets Cas pull him into another hug, before his legs are threatening to give out and he has to sit on one of the damn bar stools. Cas makes him some pretty basic scrambled egg on toast, during which his cell beeps at least nine times, which is probably Zachariah texting him expletives. Cas barely notices it because he’s so intent on serving up the best scrambled eggs of all time, as if that will somehow help. The care and attention he puts into it does, though, because currently it’s the only thing the guy _can_ do. Cas would put that much dedication into any single thing that he thought would help and it’s…

“Here,” Cas says, finally, then sits and eats with him even though that wasn’t part of the fucking deal. Dean’s too exhausted to argue and, anyway, he’s glad Cas has actually taken the time to eat properly. Cas should take better care of himself. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Yes, Cas, I will text you. Now will you go before Zach fires your ass?” Dean asks, dredging the words up. They sound fake, which they absolutely are just by their nature of being vaguely positive. Cas hovers for a few minutes before going in for a kiss that Dean barely responds to, then leaving for work a good hour and a half late.

*

He cries some more in the shower because he hates himself and because he’s screwing up Cas’ life, but by the time he’s cleaner than he’s ever probably been he feels slightly more in control. He needs to make contact with work and come up with some acceptable lie to explain his absence. He needs to text Cas something reassuring because he’s gotta be worrying himself crazy. Caffeine will help. Some kind of sugar. Exercise, theoretically, but there’s no way he’s got the energy for that. He can’t drink, as much as he wants to, because it won’t help. Well, short term it’ll help plenty, but… Cas will worry more and he’d know, because he always knows, and that’s enough for it not to be an option right now. 

Three cups of sweet coffee (not how he’d usually drink the stuff, but anything that’s gonna give him some kind of boost is going to have to do) and a text message into work later, he calls Bobby. By all rights, he should have called into work rather than text, but he didn’t think he could actually face it.

“This about something important, boy?” Bobby asks by way of a greeting, which both makes him feel slightly calmer and a little shittier, but not quite in equal measure. Bobby is probably the only figure in his life that’s more constant than Cas (Sam doesn’t really _count_ , because he’s his annoying kid brother who spent half their childhood trying to run away from their Dad; he’s a pretty damn important constant in his life, but he’s not exactly a stabilising force). Just hearing his voice sort of helps. Bobby cares. Bobby knows him pretty damn well and Bobby still considers him to be as good as a son.

“You know we told you we were gonna try adopt,” Dean says, dredging the words up from in the midst of his shitty feeling, because… because it’s been an age since he’s talked all of this crap through with anyone. He hasn’t _mentioned_ it to Bobby since they were all excited about submitting their first application and Bobby hasn’t asked about it since he got a grunt and Dean in a bad mood in reply, and Bobby was the only person he _did_ mention it to. They’d had some bullshit idea at the beginning that they wouldn't tell anyone till we knew it was gonna happen, then he just didn't wanna talk about how shit it all was to Sam because… Sam will probably have kids before they do. He’ll get some girlfriend pregnant by accident or get hitched and buy a goddamn dad-car. Sam already feels like he’s ruined Dean’s childhood. He doesn’t need him feeling guilty about his baby making privileges for the rest of his life. Fuck that. He just told Bobby, who said he was damn proud of Dean for not letting his Dad ruin his life or his chance at being happy. Dean figured he was pretty psyched about being a grandpa, too. Just turns out that’s probably not gonna happen.

“Umhmm,”

“The whole fucking process is a sack of shit. Been working on it for three damn years. First they say we’re too young, even though we were both twenty eight and half our friends have kids. Then our house isn’t appropriate, so we sell our goddamnn house and move.” 

“Always wondered why you moved,”

“Yeah, well. Then our relationship isn't considered stable enough, even though we've been living together for a frigging decade and engaged for years, so now we're getting married. We weren’t gonna bother, cause the whole shebang gets kind of expensive the second you pander to anyone's wishes and cause our families are both a pain in the ass, you not included, and cause we were saving for when we had kids but, hell, if the legal documentation is necessary than its fucking necessary. Now we're planning a wedding neither of us really want, not that it'd be a hardship to marry the guy, it's just all the rest, and then they started suggesting that our application will still get denied because we live too far away from the rest of our family so we can’t provide a wider support network. It’s such bullshit, Bobby. We ain’t exactly got a lot of family between us, anyway, and what we do have don’t count cause it’s not blood which is pretty fucking hilarious considering we’re trying to _adopt_ here.”

“So I don’t count?”

“Nope,” Dean says, “Still dunno if Cas’ Mom is coming to the wedding and his brothers are too busy feuding to give a damn, so we’ve just got Sam. Gabriel at a push, but he sure as hell ain’t a sensible wider support network.”

“Mhmm,”

“We talked about moving to frigging California for this, Bobby,” Dean says, his chest aching, “But they told Cas he can’t transfer, which means both of us would have to quit our jobs, which means we wouldn’t have a stable income which, bam, back to square fucking zero, only then we’re in a whole new state trying to work out a whole new system, and even _then_ we wouldn’t have any friends, just one brother, which ain’t exactly a wide support network. I just… I don’t think it’s gonna happen, Bobby. Now we’re talking about giving up on it and I just… it fucking sucks.”

“You been sitting on that rant for three years, boy? What, you don’t know how to pick up the damn phone for all your whining?”

“We were gonna tell people when we had good news,” Dean says, sitting down, “Which we don’t have and we aint gonna get. Cas won’t quit his crappy job ‘cause it looks good that it’s so solid, even though his boss is a frigging slave driver and it’s making him miserable. We’re making all these sacrifices, but nothing’s happening.”

“You asked Sam if he wants to move?”

“No,” Dean says, “And I’m not gonna. He’s just started out. Got a new girlfriend. Pretty sure it’s a whole different lawyer code in Kansas.”

“So you’re giving up?”

“It’s killing us, Bobby,” Dean says, hand pressed into his gut, head swimming. “We gotta do it. We’re giving it to the end of the year. I just… man, I dunno what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

“Well,” Bobby says, voice as reassuring and gruff as it always is, “It aint like you didn’t try, Dean. You can’t give everything to something that don’t give you anything back.”

_That_ sounds a whole lot like the speech Bobby gave him about his father when he was sixteen and ready to drop out of school.

“I know,” Dean says, taking another sip of his coffee. It’s cold and too frigging sweet, but he doesn’t give a shit about that. “It’s the right thing, I just, it fucking sucks, Bobby. Feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

“Well, you sure as hell aint letting me down, boy. I'm damn proud of you for wanting in the first place. For giving your own damn happiness a chance,” Bobby says, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, “Felt like shit. Called in sick. Everything’s going to hell, Bobby, and I’m so done with this frigging wedding. Sam’s just jumped on it. My head’s a fucking mess.”

“I don’t call settling down with your boy hell, Dean. I hope the adoption thing works out for you, Dean, but it aint the end of the world. Yeah, it sucks, but you gotta lot of good in your life, kid. You need to focus on the rest of it. Enjoy your damn wedding, you deserve it.”

“Bobby,”

“And go to work,” Bobby says, “And call me when things are in the crapper, boy. Don’t go saving it up till you’re having a damn breakdown.”

“You call this a breakdown, you should’ve seen me this morning.”

“You wanna drag out this pity party?”

“No,” Dean says, swallowing. “I’m done. Thanks, Bobby.”

“And Ellen’s pissed you aint answering your damn phone. So, give her a damn call when you’re in the mood to be chewed out some.”

“Well that sounds appealing,” Dean says, “Awesome.”

“You look after yourself, you hear me?”

“Working on it,” Dean says, pressing his balled up fist into his stomach to keep in the desire to start crying all over again. He feels slightly better. Kind of numb, but nowhere near fighting fit, and he just reopened the wound all over again. “See you, Bobby.”

“Bye, son,” He gets which, fucking hell, gets him right in the gut. In a good way, though. In a way that makes him want to follow his damn advice and _actually_ take care of himself.

* 

The look of relief he gets from Cas as he walks through the door and see's Dean sat at the breakfast bar going over their bills rather than crying in bed or smashing up the impala again makes him feel beyond shitty. If he wasn't so damn selfish he'd have let Cas go to work and skip the whole frigging episode, but he's not, so now they both have to deal.

"I said I was okay, Cas," Dean says, as Cas more or less collapses on his damn shoulder.

"Forgive me for not entirely believing you, Dean."

"That's fair." 

"Did they help?" Cas asks, cutting straight to the point as always. Dean had been doing his best not to think about it, but… well, he hadn’t been doing a good job of it anyway. 

"Well, I went to work."

"You... you went to work,” Cas repeats, blinking at him.

"After lunch. Sure as hell beat wallowing and over thinking every single damn thing," Dean says, "I dunno. Feel kinda shitty, but... alive."

"Alive," Cas nods, "That's good."

"Good is a strong word," Dean says, "Sorry. About this morning. Caught me off guard. I'd been feeling a little better and then... bam."

"Don't apologies," Cas say, "I was just... scared." That has Dean exhaling and wanting to hit something hard enough for it to hurt. "I don't know how you can feel like that and then go into work. I don't think I would be strong enough."

"Strong?"

"Yes, Dean, strong. You are a strong person. You've always been strong. I just wish you didn't have to fight so hard."

That brings up a lump in his throat and, shit, but that's too accurate. He doesn't want any of this to be a damn fight, but it is. He fights and he fights and he fights. 

"You and me both, buddy," Dean says, "It's not like I didn't have help."

"The anti-depressants?"

"Wouldn't have worked yet. I mean you. And three cups of coffee, phone call to Bobby and fast food. Those are supposed to be my healthy coping mechanisms or some shit. Or, you know, slightly less unhealthy coping mechanisms. Who knew I had any of those."

"As opposed to?"

"Take a damn guess, Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Alcohol. Self-destructing.”

“Casual sex?” Cas suggests, “Before our relationship.”

“Maybe,” Dean says, swallowing. He’d never really thought about any of it in those terms before. “Like you can talk about that, though. Come on, dude, you got laid way more than me. And you definitely used it as a coping mechanism.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “Although I never considered it to be particularly unhealthy. Whilst you –“

“ – occasionally used it as an excuse to feel shitty about myself?” Dean asks, “Awesome. We can add it to the damn list.” 

“You don’t do that with me,”

“How could I make sex with you into something to feel crap about myself over?” Dean asks. “Anyway, man, better question. What are your coping mechanisms? You’re pretty well adjusted, to the shock of anyone who met you at eighteen or has ever been introduced to a member of your family.”

“My coping mechanisms?” Cas frowns, heading to the coffee machine. 

“Healthy or otherwise,” Dean says, “Sex, check, but you gotta have something else. You don’t drink. I guess you used to get high for that phase in college, but…”

“I pray,” Cas says, which is absolutely not what Dean was expecting.

“You _pray_?”

“You know I believe, Dean,” Cas says, “It’s not a huge step from that to praying.”

“I know you used to, yeah, I didn’t know you still… you haven’t been to church for years, dude,” Dean says, “Pretty much figured you lost faith.”

“There’s a difference between having faith in the church and having faith in God,” Cas says, pouring himself coffee and turning around. “My opinions of the church are complicated. My opinions of God are not. Do you want any coffee?”

“I’m stupidly caffeinated already, thanks,” Dean says, staring at Cas where he’s clutching his coffee to his chest. He still looks damned exhausted and worried, but at least now they’re talking about something which isn’t the various ways in which Dean’s a mess. It’s the best distraction he’s had in weeks. “You’re not exactly living the classic Christian life here, Cas.”

“I pray, I read the bible –“

“ - _read_ present tense?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, smiling at him slightly. That’s good, too. Cas hasn’t exactly had a whole load of reasons to be smiling lately. Mostly, he’s just been stressed and tried (and probably sexually frustrated, because Cas isn’t the one with the libido problem right now).

“But you’ve already read it,”

“It stands up fairly well to rereading,” Cas says, really smiling now, “I’m surprised this is surprising to you.”

“Hey, it’s not like you talk about it with me,” Dean says, “And I’ve never seen you reading biblical bedtime stories.”

“I downloaded it onto my kindle.”

“Of course you frigging did,” Dean says, shaking his head slightly.

“I know you’re not a man a faith, Dean, so I don’t tend to discuss mine with you,” Cas says, looking at him thoughtfully.

“That aint fair,” Dean says, “You’re keeping part of yourself hostage. No dice, dude. We’re getting married. I wanna know about all the stuff in your head that I don’t agree with. So, you pray when shit’s going down, you read the bible… you gonna start preaching the gospel on street corners?”

“I do enjoy the gospel,”

“Really?” Dean asks, watching Cas sip his coffee and, damnit, Cas is so fucking interesting. He’s always been enthralling and this glorious, fascinating enigma, but the fact that Dean’s still finding out about more of his idiosyncrasies when they’re this far in is just… awesome. “Even the bits that are all, thou shalt never have sex unless you’re making babies and all that crap.”

“The gospel is more… love thy neighbour,” Castiel says, “And sex _was_ marriage in biblical times, Dean, and there’s certainly nothing I remember about restricting sex within marriage.” 

“Well, dude, you got biblically married like a hundred times, already.” 

“And,” Cas continues, “I growingly understand the point.”

“The point?”

“Of only sleeping with one person,” Cas says, leaning against the kitchen counter, close and still smiling at him like this morning didn’t happen, and like they aren’t about to give up this massive part of their life plan because the world just isn’t on their side. “It is more satisfying, more meaningful, safer, less likely to be used as a tool or coping mechanism. It protects the sanctity of sex.”

“Wow, Cas,” Dean says, “Keep saying shit like the _sanctity of sex_ and I’ll have to get you naked right now.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Kind of,” Dean says, “You should, uh, shoot off a prayer about the adoption stuff on my behalf.”

“Always, Dean,” Cas says, reaching forward to kiss his forehead like the frigging sap that Cas’ always been.

“And… and my fucked up head,” Dean adds, catching Cas whilst he’s still close and holding him there. He feels a little better, but he still feels like crap, and having Cas this near to him definitely helps some.

“You would want me to?”

“Cas, I’m taking these damn pills. I’m doing my damn therapy homework. We’re going for help from whatever angle works, here. You believe this shit works. I believe in your judgement, generally. Go for it. Get your frigging prayer on.”

Cas smiles at him, wide and lovely, like they’re not talking about how much Dean’s ruining their-would-be-perfect life, and it turns out to be a damn good evening against all odds.

Next morning, he takes the stupid pills again and tries not to think about it too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a lot of stuff about things I have zero experience with (ie. adoption) and is therefore largely based of people I know's experiences of various things and also google. Please forgive me for any gross inaccuracies. 
> 
> I blame the fact that we just got a kitten and her favourite thing to do is sit on my keyboard when I'm trying to write. It makes the whole process v. difficult.
> 
> Also please forgive me for how long this chapter was. It ran away with me a bit (a lot)


	7. Chapter 7

According to Chuck (and google, when Dean double checked), the anti-depressants he’s been dutifully taking every damn day, even though it goes against his instincts and makes him feel doubly worthless and shitty every time he thinks about them, probably aren’t working yet. It means his growingly less-crappy mood is actually just the upswing of this whole, crappy period of… well, _depression_ , which is probably a good thing, even if it doesn’t motivate him to continue taking the damn things. It makes a lot of sense, given he’d had a couple of okay-days before the _really bad_ bad morning, and it’s never been this long before. He can pick out periods of six months or so which had been _bad_ periods, but he’s never been consistently this bad for… three months, and he’s not exactly in the clear yet. He’s just fighting harder.

“Sam wants to know if you tried on the tux he reserved,” Cas says, stepping into the spare bedroom with his cell in his right hand. Dean’s sort of been hiding from him for the past couple of hours because he needed some space, but it feels a lot like relief to see him in the doorway. Apparently, Dean’s not always the best at knowing what’s good for himself. Then again, Chuck could have (and has) told him that. 

“Why have you been talking to Sam?” Dean asks, because… well, Cas and Sam do _talk_ , obviously, but usually only when Sam’s actually here, or via Dean, or at the very least Dean passes Cas the phone after he’s done talking. Sam only _calls Cas_ when they’re conspiring against him, or talking about his man pain, or Christmas. It’s too early even for Sam to be thinking about Christmas.

“Apparently, I am the only way to get through to you,” Cas says, “Myself or Bobby,”

“And he picked you?”

“Bobby expressed distaste about being pulled into wedding arrangements,”

“Man after my own heart,” Dean mutters, “And no, Cas, I have not tried on any damn tux. Or responded to any of the other sixty requests Sam’s text me in the past week. And, no, I do not give a single fuck.”

“Bad day?”

“Bad frigging month,” Dean says, pressing a hand to his forehead, “Two months. Bad quarter.” 

“Can I help?” Cas asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, where Dean’s been lying and staring at the ceiling for the past hour. It probably wasn’t the most productive use of his Sunday but, whatever. Come Wednesday he’s got Sam to deal with which is awesome and all, but he’s still not sure he’s ready.

“Dunno,” Dean says, sighing and sitting up. “Pretty sure I’m just being a baby. Just… was setting up the room for Sam and…”

“There’s still four months,”

“I know,” Dean says, swallowing again, “Liking the bedhead today, Cas. Real cute.”

“You mean I look like I’ve been electrocuted,” Cas says, which is a fairly accurate assessment, because the guy made the mistake of showering right before bed and because he probably needs a haircut at this point, anyway.

“A little,” Dean says, forcing a grin, “Sam is touching down in… three days. So.”

“So?”

“So in two days, we have to deal with their frigging separation crusade,” Dean frowns, “You’re being dragged off to Gabriel and I’ve gotta pretend not to be a crazy person to Sam.” 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” Cas frowns, “And you do not need pretend anything to Sam. I’m sure he’d understand.” 

“Oh, yeah, he’d pull every muscle in his face _understanding_ , that’s half the problem,” Dean says, massaging his forehead, “Goddamnit, Cas, he’s gonna be on at me like he’s a six foot four cat and I’m made of frigging catnip. I’ve got _therapy_ whilst he’s here. I’m gonna be sneaking out to take my happy pills like a damn teenager with a pot habit. Got no idea how the hell else to deal with this around Sam. ‘Specially if you’re not around.” 

“Dean, I’m going to be on the other end of the phone.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “Exactly. I want you on the other end of my frigging bed, okay? Always. No exceptions.” 

“That’s very sweet,” 

“Fuck you,” Dean says, but grabs hold of Cas’ t-shirt and pulls him properly onto the spare bed anyway, because he feels like a needy co-dependent asshole and he needs Cas not to mind that he’s a co-dependent asshole. Cas lets him and winds up sprawled across his chest, which is nice, and kisses his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, then actually on his lips. Then Cas shifts his thighs and kisses him deeply, which has Dean’s lungs constricting in a bad way; more panic attack than the good kind of breathless. “Cas,” Dean sighs, “We need to work on this,” 

“This?” 

“Okay,” Dean says, “Don’t overreact, but-“ 

“- I am uncomfortable with any sentence starting with don’t overreact.” Cas says, lips pulled into an unhappy line. 

“You suck at reading me when I’m low,” 

“Reading you?” 

“Knowing when I’m up for sex,” Dean says, rolling his eyes and keeping Cas in close, prolonging body contact so that he doesn’t start overthinking before Dean can finish his damn question. “I suck at reading if you wanna get down too, apparently. Barely event noticed till you bought it up, but now I'm aware... I'm noticing. Like," Dean says, smoothing a hand over Cas' hip and nodding towards his crotch, "Right now, I know you wanna make out, which I am down with, but you're gonna want some kind of happy ending, which I'm pretty sure I am not up for. So then you wind up turned on and unsatisfied which, even if _you_ don't mind, makes me feel like I'm fucking up. I know I muddied the water cause we've slept together a couple of times but, I dunno, my heads all over the place and I have like zero grasp of how my libido fits in here, so obviously I don't know how you're supposed to know, either." 

“But if I was better able to established whether you're 'up for it'…” Cas prompts, staying exactly where Dean’s holding him, with most of his weight resting on Dean’s thighs. It’s a reassuring sort of weight. 

“Then you'd know before you dove in with your grinding or whatever, and I don't have to outwardly reject you. I mean, I dunno that were gonna get it perfect, but we could work on it, maybe.” 

Cas tilts his head at him and considers this for a long few moments. 

“So currently you would just like to make out?” 

“Yeah,” 

Cas looks at him very seriously, like he's trying to memorise his facial expressions and body language. By all means, Dean should be used to Cas’ soulful staring for by this point in the game, but it still has the power to make him feel very, very naked. Especially right now, where Dean’s not all that keen on being vulnerable in front of anyone, even if that’s all he seems to be doing lately. 

"Do you have any other stipulations?" 

"What?" 

"An aversion to being topless, perhaps." 

"I've got an all-time aversion to being less naked then you, so if I'm losing my shirt, you gotta too." 

"Hands above the waist?" 

"Fucking hell, Cas, we're not in bible camp. Put your hands wherever you want that isn't my junk." 

"I thought talking it through night the best way to establish your boundaries,” Cas say because, of fucking course, this is always what he was gonna get from bringing this up. He should have just sucked it up and let get Cas carried away, because it would probably less awkward to leave Cas hanging than have to graphically detail what he is and is not comfortable with right now, like Dean actually has any frigging clue. 

“Yeah, you're probably right, but we're seconds away from turning this into a frigging formal contract,” Dean says, “And that really aint my thing, Cas.” 

“Do you want me to ask next time?” 

“I'd rather your read my damn mind,” Dean mutters, because he hates this. He hates that this screwed up stuff in his head has to seep into every crack of his life and taint everything, even his damn sex life. As far as he’s concerned, their frigging bedroom (or, in this instance, the spare bedroom) should be sacred ground. 

Cas reaches forward and pressed two fingers to his forehead, for all the world like he's concentrating really hard, head titled. 

"Sadly, your mind remains as impenetrable," Cas says, dropping his hand and smirking at him. 

"That was beyond lame," Dean says, "Seriously." 

"It was cute," 

"Oh yeah, you're frigging adorable," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "You're usually aces at reading me. How come me being depressed is such a road block, anyway?" 

Cas blinks at him for a few seconds then seems to decide that pulling up the fact that Dean used the D word is probably a bad plan. He didn’t really mean to use it, anyway. Thus far it’s stayed locked up in his head as something that _probably_ applies to him, but certainly not something he feels like owning any time soon. It’s a little like coming out all over again. Like when he’d known _about_ bisexuality in a sense, but he hadn’t thought it could really be something that would apply to him; then suddenly he’s revaluating frigging everything because it turns out all the baggage and associations he’d lumped in with bisexuality were just myths. It took him a long time after that to own it in his head, then longer still to use it as something to describe himself as out loud. Obviously, being attracted to dudes and chicks made him bisexual, because that’s all it really means. Obviously, the fact that he’s taking these damn anti-depressants and feels like his emotions have been cut out of his chest half the time right now means he’s _depressed_ , but that doesn’t mean he has to like the damn word. 

“Cas,” Dean says, slightly pained, which has the guy picking on his distress signals and honing on Dean’s actual question. 

“Your body language is… more complicated. You’re more inclined to push me out, which means it’s more difficult to ascertain what’s going on in your head. I’ve always assumed that’s the point. I suppose not understanding your needs is a side effect of you not wanting me too involved in your internal battles,” Cas says, then frowns, “That’s not a complaint, Dean. I understand.” 

“And you usually just wait me out,” Dean says, “But this time it’s been a _long time_ and you’re horny.” Cas looks pained. "Dude, you don't have a problem with me not being up for sex right now and I don't have a problem with you still being up for sex. Pretty sure both of those things are valid.” 

"You feel guilty about your lowered sex drive." 

"And you feel guilty about not being in sync with me. Two way street, dude." 

“This is complicated.” 

“No it aint. We're making it complicated by being so irrational about it,” Dean says, “Some couples have totally different sex drives all the time and they reach some kind of compromise.” 

“I don’t think not wanting to have sex is something you should ever compromise,” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Dean says, “Hell, Cas, there are a lot of asexuals in relationships with… whatever the hell the opposite of asexual is,” 

“Allosexual,” 

“Right, that,” Dean says, “Point being, this is not a big deal. I just think we can do better than this. But, whatever, I said I wanted to make out, not get bogged down in a whole frigging dialogue about it, and I definitely didn’t ask you to get all _guilty_ about wanting to bone me. Obviously, I want you to want me.” 

“I think there’s a song there,” 

“It’s a good job you’re cute,” 

“That was one of the first things you said to me when we started flirting,” Cas says, lips twisting up into a smile, eyes as blue as they always have been. Dean actually doesn’t remember _when_ he’s talking about. He’s pretty sure they internalised their whole relationship timeline different (which was half their problem in getting together in the first place and which is why they really needed to _talk_ , damnit), so although he’d probably guess it was around their final year of college it could have been before that. Who knows when they started this thing, because it was just so _inevitable_. “Ten years ago.” 

“Well if I’m only repeating my best lines once a decade that could be worse,” Dean says, hands sneaking under Cas’ shirt so he can run them over the guy’s back. 

“I wouldn’t say that’s your _best_ line,” 

“Hit me with it then, sweetheart.” 

“My favourite is _I love you_.” 

“You are the worst,” Dean says, shaking his head as Cas _finally_ leans down to kiss him, beaming his frigging head off. The kiss is gentle and slow and resolutely not going anywhere, which means Dean actually gets to enjoy it without freaking out that he’s giving off the wrong impression or that Cas is going to have to ditch out to go take an impromptu shower, or whatever (like Dean would care if the guy just needed to jerk off. Hell, Dean would probably offer to _help_ but Cas no doubt wouldn’t have any of it – they can have that discussion another time). It’s just _nice_ , with Cas warm and close and so obviously completely in love with him. He couldn’t kiss him like that if he wasn’t, like he can’t think of any better use of his Sunday then to kiss in their spare bedroom like they’re a couple of teenagers. Damn. Ten years. Fuck. 

Cas tips them both sideways so that they’re actually on a level, which is good. Very good. 

“May I?” Cas asks, hand slipping under Dean’s t-shirt. It’s strange to think about the years of friendship when they _weren’t_ doing this. They wouldn’t have been ready by any means. Given what happened in the first eighteen months of their relationship, they weren’t ready when it _did_ happen, but it’s hard to think of a time that he wasn’t stupidly in love with his best friend. He can remember pushing back the frustration at not being able to just _touch_ the guy with denial, with layers of casual sex on top, with a side order of questionable boundaries of personal space from the beginning. Still, the idea feels unfathomable. 

Dean hums in response and lifts up his arms so Cas can pull his shirt over his head. He’s gained weight and lost muscle during this whole shitty period, but Cas still drinks in his appearance like he’s something special. It’s hard to properly get into a rut of hating himself when Cas is this good to him, which is probably why he pushes him out or gets wrapped into questioning _why_ Cas would give a crap in the first place. 

He relieves Cas of his shirt, too, and they keep kissing. He’s so fucking lucky that Cas wants to do this forever. He’s been pretty sceptical about this whole wedding shit since the off, but it’s something to throw at the dark part of his head that won’t accept Cas is going to stick around come whatever. For richer or for poorer and all the rest. 

Just thinking about Cas solemnly declaring that he’s going to stay with Dean forever in front of all their friends and family has this warm, peaceful feeling pooling in his gut. Obviously, it’s going to be horrible, because they’re all going to be looking at Dean too, and Dean’s the kind of guy who hated being singled out a birthday parties, let alone voluntarily singling himself out to spout shit about his feelings when he’s already feeling vulnerable and a bit worthless. If he wasn’t currently in a rut it’d still be uncomfortable, but as it is it’s probably going to be excruciating. At least at the end of it he gets to be married to Cas. _Married_. 

Fuck, but Dean needs him so badly. 

Cas pulls away from him, hair even more ridiculous than it was before, and frowns. It’s then that Dean twigs that he’s the one who’s gotten carried away and, fuck, he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t feel shitty right now. He can barely remember why he’s spent half the day hiding and staring at the damn ceiling because… because _Cas_. 

“Dean, I'm not usually an advocate of the word tease, but I do find the current location of your hand confusing given the conversation we just had,” Cas says, entirely evenly. Dean’s flushing slightly which is completely ridiculous but, whatever, he can’t control that kind of shit. 

"Oh right,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “Well, I changed my mind." 

Cas stares at him for another few long seconds, during which Dean considers that maybe he should _move_ his hand now that Cas has bought attention to it, but then he starts talking before Dean can put the actual thoughts into action. 

"You changed your mind?" 

"Yeah," Dean says. His voices emerges from his throat mangled and a little emotional and, holy hell, Dean needs to get a grip. On his life. On what the hell is going on with his sex drive. On fucking _everything_. 

"You do want a... happy ending,” Cas says, slowly, because of course the guy is struggling to keep up. Dean makes about zero sense right now. He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot who can’t even tell when and when he does not want to have sex anymore. 

"Yep," Dean says, popping the p in a bad attempt to keep this conversation light and airy like it _should_ be, rather than whatever the hell else is threatening to fall out of his mouth, "I know I'm setting a shitty precedent right now, but... yeah." 

"You are allowed to change your mind," Cas says, resting a hand on his thigh in that reassuring Cas-way that has him a little more grounded in reality. "Although, I am curious as to why." 

Dean moves his damn hand. 

"We got like two real days before Sam touches down, and one of them is a Monday," Dean says, "Then the whole freak show is coming to town. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Gabriel. It's gonna be awesome. Having everyone all together. First time in years, Cas, we're gonna have everyone we care about sitting round a table or five. Then we're getting hitched, which is kinda wild." 

"Thirteen days," 

"And you'll be my husband," 

"That is generally how it works," 

"But, more to the point, you're spending most of the next two weeks in some hotel room with Gabriel, whilst I'm here with Sam, where we definitely won't be able to fuck, whether I'm up for it or not.” 

"This is true," Cas says, thumb now running over his damn thigh through his jeans, still watching him carefully. None of that explains why the hell Dean suddenly wants nothing more than to get Cas out of the pair of Dean’s sweats that he’s wearing (they don’t really fit him, so taking them off him isn’t exactly going to be a challenge), though. 

“And I just, damnit Cas, I dunno. I’m not a psychologist, but I am _so_ game. If you are, I mean.” 

Cas just smiles at him. 

* 

“Dean, are you humming Marvin Gaye?” Cas asks, standing close behind him in the kitchen, wearing only his boxers and just _watching_ him clean the kitchen. He hadn’t really registered that he was humming, nor the tune, but he’s in a damn good mood all of a sudden. Maybe sex always had the power to push back the rest of the crap rolling round in his head, which is why he avoids it. That, or it only worked because he’s almost-okay anyway. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care, either, because he feels _good_ and he’d rather fucking enjoy it than dissect. 

“Leeet’s get it oonnnn,” Dean sings, merging his hum into actual lyrics, turning round to face Cas and grinning at him. “Oh baby, letssss get it oooonnnn. Hey, that’s totally wedding music material.” Dean grins, resting a hand onto the guy’s hip and catching his other hand. “First dance?” 

“Is this supposed to be waltz stance?” 

“Dude,” Dean says, “I don’t waltz,” 

“I thought you didn’t dance,” 

“I don’t,” Dean says, tightening his grip on Cas’ hip and goading him into swaying, he feels _good_ and because Cas looks bright and happy and fucking glorious, and they have a really good set up right here. They’re getting married. His whole damn family is going to be crash landing here at some point over the next two weeks. “But it’s a classic, man. Then come on, oh come on. Let’s get it ooon.” 

“We already did,” 

“True story,” Dean grins, leaning forward to kiss him, “Rocking your world since twenty thirteen. Ten years and going strong.” 

“Nearly ten years," Cas says, because he's a pedantic little shit, "I don’t think the anti-depressants affect your sex drive,” 

“Wow, Cas, way to piss all over the party.” 

“It’s just an observation,” Cas says, keeping his damn hand captured, “Not that it makes a difference to me,” 

“ _Now_ you’re pissing over our wonderful afternoon,” Dean says, “Anyway, they’re not supposed to be working yet. Dunno how long it takes before these side effects kick in. Get it while you can, is my advice.” 

“We should do something this evening,” Cas says, “We have been extremely lax about date night.” 

“Alright, dinner and a movie?” Dean suggests, “What’s on?” 

“I have no idea,” Cas says, then reaches for Dean’s cell (because he’s the only one of them who decided to put pants on and actually check the million messages he has from Sam, whilst Cas has just been wondering around a pair of boxers short of butt naked) and opens up a google page. He doesn’t get very far, though, because that’s when Sam decides to ring him. 

It was probably expected, because Dean answered Sam’s six wedding related questions with the word ‘no’ which he gets wasn’t very helpful and probably sent Sam into a tailspin of irritation and stress but, seriously, who cares. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, taking the cell out of Cas’ hands and answering it with a grimace. Cas kisses his shoulder blade because he’s a frigging sap, then heads to the coffee machine. 

“Dean, if you haven’t tried on the tux, the store might not even have it still put aside.” 

“And?” Dean asks, “I don’t wanna wear a stupid penguin suit anyway.” 

“Dean,” 

“Fucking hell, Sam, the store’s gotta have more than one tux. Whatever.” 

“But then you won’t _match_ ,” 

“Okay, I did not sign up to _match_ ,” Dean says, watching Cas move around the kitchen feeling entirely too affectionate. It’s probably the sex that’s turned him mushy, but, this is their home. They argued over what cutlery to buy and the damn coffee machine and whether or not to do up the kitchen. “Sam, I am serious, I am not wearing a goddamn matching tux.” 

“You agreed,” 

“Did I?” Dean asks and, crap, he’s getting the beginning of a headache already. He might have done. He’s been pretty much agreeing to everything Sam’s asked him for months because he hasn’t had the energy to think about any of it. “Look, Cas doesn’t care if a wear a frigging suit or not,” 

“Confirmed,” Cas says, and pushes a coffee in his direction, because he is a beautiful, beautiful man. 

“So, what, you’re gonna get married in your jeans and your old t-shirts with Cas in his trench coat –” 

“– hey, I never said Cas wasn’t gonna be suited and booted,” Dean says, “He’s totally gonna be all sexy and dolled up. We’re just aint matching this side of the damn apocalypse.” 

“Dean,” 

“What time you landing on Wednesday?” Dean asks, mostly because he absolutely does not want to continue talking about this, or thinking about it, because on some level he knows he’s being slightly ridiculous. He said he didn’t care about the wedding, so now he actually needs to _not_ care rather than throw a tantrum over matching fucking tuxes, even if they’re going to look unbelievably lame. 

“I told you, half six,” 

“Dude, what’s got you in such a crappy mood?” Dean asks, as Cas wraps his arms around his back, fingers splayed across his stomach. “Your heart breaking about leaving your new girlfriend in California for a week?” 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sam snaps back and, oh yeah, his brother’s in a hell of a snit. Dean probably shouldn’t have pushed him with all this wedding crap, but it’s not like he _meant_ to. It’s just not his top priority. 

“Got laid,” Dean shrugs, “Probably should remake your bed again, actually.”

Sam doesn’t stay on the phone too long after that. 

“Dean,” Cas says, fingers still splayed across his stomach when Dean’s hung up, “Your brother is going to be here for two weeks,” 

“And the award for stating the obvious goes to… Castiel Novak, soon to be Winchester.” 

“I think it would be a good opportunity for you to talk to your brother,” Cas says, stupidly gently, but firm too. Dean has a vague, uncomfortable feeling about where Cas is going with this, but he doesn’t quite feel like he can snap at him until it’s confirmed. “Your brother has been the singular most important figure in your life, Dean, he should know what’s going on.” 

“What?” 

“I think part of the reason your brother is putting so much effort into organising our wedding is because he wishes to reconnect with you,” Cas says, still more or less holding him in an attempt to soften the blow. Dean’s not all that sure that it’s working and, yeah, he gets this is probably coming from the bottomless well of good intentions that is his fiancé’s reasons for doing anything, but he still _really_ wishes he’d just leave the whole thing alone. 

“He's not _disconnected_ ,” Dean mutters, directing his gaze towards his coffee rather than towards Cas. 

“Dean, you haven't spoken to him about looking to adopt. How would you feel if Sam was keeping something like that from you?” 

Oh, fuck. 

“Don't do that, Cas,” Dean says, forehead screwing up because, obviously, he’d feel awful. He’d burn down half of goddamn America if Sam was keeping something that huge from him, but he had a whole host of reasons for not talking to Sam about this shit. It wasn’t like he wasn’t talking to Sam about any of this out of spite, or because he couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone… he just doesn’t like burdening Sam with his crap. He’s supposed to _protect_ him, not whine at him. 

“I know _why_ you haven’t spoken to him, Dean,” Cas says, “But I’m not sure Sam will see it that way,” 

“Then he doesn’t have to know about it,” Dean snaps, then realises that’s exactly _what_ Cas is trying to argue against. “It's complicated. I can't talk to Sam. Why are you even bringing this up?" 

"Realistically, you and Sam are not going to be in the same location for this length of time for at least a year, and probably not again till Christmas given the amount of leave any of us have left after the wedding," Cas says, which makes Dean's stomach clench and, damnit, they should have moved to California years ago. They're too settled now with their jobs and their house and Dean's pretty sure Sam won't move anytime soon, either. The distance sucks. "Your relationship with your brother has been off-kilter for a while, which I suspect is why Sam is trying so hard." 

"You're saying I'm not trying?" 

“I'm saying that you're so keen to maintain your persona to Sam that you're comprising your friendship,” Cas says, which cuts _way_ deeper than expected because, holy shit. In nearly ten years together, Castiel has _never_ pushed into his relationship with Sam to this extent. He’s nudged him about keeping Sam informed about stuff on occasion, but… Sam is his little brother and his best fucking friend, they talk most days, he’s been hopelessly co-dependent on his brother for half his life (before Castiel sort of one-upped him on the co-dependency front, which Dean felt fucking awful about for years until Bobby pointed out that’s what happens to most adults at some point). He’s never had anyone question the strength of his relationship with Sam before. Dean blinks at him. 

“Why's it matter to you, anyway?” Dean snaps, before he can censor himself. He knows it’s not in the least bit fair, but it’s instinctual. Bite back. Probably why they argue so much, anyway. 

“Don't insult me by suggesting your relationship with Sam isn't important to me. You need your brother but, more to the point currently, your brother needs you." 

"Sam hasn't needed me for years," Dean shoots back, gripping hold of the side table and glancing away. He knows his own family history. He remembers Sam’s complaining and running away and all the rest. First chance he got, Sam headed out to California to _escape_ their messy family situation. Yeah, he depended on Dean plenty when he was a kid, but the guy’s an adult with a good job and a life and he does not _need Dean._

"You're his family," Cas says, sharply, "Sam isn't as close to Bobby or Ellen as you are," 

"Yeah, cause he didn't latch onto the first willing parental figures..." 

"Because _you_ were his acting parental figure. You looked after him, Dean, whilst there was no one looking after you.” 

“Well I am just thrilled we're dragging all this up.” 

“Dean, please, I'm just suggesting you think about this before Sam arrives. You're going to have a unique opportunity to spend time with him _without me_ , which you haven't done in years.” Cas says, as earnest as he ever is, with his fucking bambi eyes and the shape of his lips when he says ‘please’ that Dean finds virtually impossible to say no to. Dean gapes at him for a minute. 

“Sam frigging loves you, man. He is the actual cheerleader for our marriage.” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “But that doesn't mean he wouldn't like to hang out with you alone. Obviously its bad timing and I would rather not be separated considering –” 

“- what a delicate little flower I am?” Dean sneers. 

“- that this wedding is probably going to be very stressful,” Cas interjects, which is diplomatic at best but, whatever, Dean _does_ feel like a delicate flower right now. He does feel like this pointless period of separation is probably going to push him back over the edge, anti-depressants none withstanding. He’s going to be a mess. 

“You just trying to wrap the fact that you want a break from me up in prettier packaging?” 

“Absolutely not. Have I ever indicated I wanted any length of time apart?” Cas asks, looming into his personal space. The guy needs to put on a damn shirt before he gets all deep into Dean’s mental bullshit (which Dean’s entirely sure they agreed _not_ to talk about, anyway), because apparently Dean’s suddenly kick started sex drive didn’t get the memo that his head space is taking another nose dive. 

“Yeah, well, I'm not usually such a pain in the ass,” 

“You are,” Cas says, smiling slightly. 

“Gee, thanks,” Dean mutters, but it’s a damn nice smile and Cas is gonna marry him anyway, “I’ll add onto the list of shit to think about,” 

“I think you should,” 

“I think you should grow your peach fuzz back in, but that don't mean you're gonna do it.” 

“I found it inconvenient for oral sex,” Cas says, “And don’t change the topic, Dean.” 

“I didn’t _sign up_ for this topic, Cas, and I’m done with it. Are we going out or not?” 

“If you’re just going to be in a bad mood –” 

“How did you think that topic was gonna go down?” Dean demands, his headache creeping back from earlier. Goddamnit, he’d thought he’d pushed away all the shitty feeling from before, but they’re sneaking back and all it took was _one_ uncomfortable conversation. 

“I didn’t know when else to bring it up,” Cas says, looking hopeless enough that Dean instantly forgives him because, goddamnit, the guy is trying to help, and he just delivered some line about Sam being the most important figure in his life without a _hint_ of resentment. 

They were having such a good day, too, with the great sex and talking about date night. Damnit, but Cas cares. Cas cares to the point of fault. 

“Should probably put some clothes on before he hit the movies,” Dean says, pulling Cas in to kiss his forehead because, well, he can be a fucking sap too, and there’s no one else there to comment on it (because he _still_ censors his relationship with Cas in front of Sam). He’s been all over the place all damn day, but _Cas_ is constant and wonderful and probably right. 

Still, he doesn’t have to deal with that until Wednesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm squinting at this chapter wondering where all the italics even came from and how this story isn't done yet. Like, how much longer can this thing even get. Who even knows.


	8. Chapter 8

Wednesday night is glorious. Sam is tall and happy and doesn’t tell him off for grabbing a beer as soon as they get home, even though it’s a weeknight and it’s probably too early to be drinking. They talk about Sam’s new girlfriend and about Sam’s job and Sam’s friends and Castiel’s asshole boss. He gives Sam a tour of their new house that Sam’s actually never seen, because last time Dean and Cas came up to California rather than the other way round. Sam actually has no idea why they moved in the first place, really, so he’s probably still bemused why they went to all the trouble so soon after their first house… still, he doesn’t mention it. They fall back into discussing Amelia in the kitchen over another beer and it is so fucking good to have Sam’s expressions and gangly frame clogging up his kitchen for the first time fucking ever, even if everything Sam says about Amelia has his alarm bells ringing, just because nothing about it sounds _right_. 

Dean hasn’t exactly been keen on any of Sam’s girlfriends for a while and, damnit, Dean had been hoping for something that might stick. His little brother’s crept into his late twenties and the only thing permanent is his job. That scares the crap out of Dean nearly daily. 

"I have one question about this whole thing,” Dean says, “Why did you care so much about the damn dog?" 

"Dean," Sam complains, but that's when Cas comes through the front door with his dumb briefcase that Dean begrudgingly bought him. The guy said he was going to be late home, but he’s sort of taking the piss as far as Dean’s concerned (he’s only not been freaking out because Cas has been texting him). At least he seems to have taken a few diversions if his armfuls of crap is anything to go by. 

“Hello, Sam," Cas says, more or less dropping the bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter, then he's being pulled into an awkward looking hug by Dean’s supposedly little brother. They're friends, pretty much, but Cas is always a little awkward. He's ten times worse with the extended family, even if he's known them for over a decade. Dean stands up too, because apparently Cas has done a mammoth grocery shop and attempted to carry it all upstairs in one go. Also, that doesn’t seem like the only thing the guys bought. 

"Hey, sweetness," Dean says, grinning at the brown paper bag still clutched in Cas' right hand. It smells like burgers, big time, and Dean could totally do with a burger break right now, "What's in the bag?" 

"I was hungry," 

"Anything for me?" Cas just hands him the bag with a smile, "Thought my cholesterol was your latest pet project." 

"My more pressing concern was the fact that buying fast food without getting you anything might be considered a capital offence. There's a burger for you too, Sam. If you don't want it I'll eat it later.” 

“Heh, you’re the shit,” Dean grins, leaning forward to kiss the guy, because he needs it. He’s pretty sure that Cas has taken fucking notes from the list of things that make getting through all this crap possible and he knows that Dean’s been worrying about Sam. He’s been killing himself feeling guilty over worrying about Sam too, but he’s been worrying all the same. 

“Aren’t you cooking?” Sam asks, as Dean chucks him one of the burgers. Sam catches it which, as far as Dean’s concerned, means the guy is going to eat it. 

“And?” Dean asks, turning back to Cas. “You get the whole offices work for the day done, or something?” 

“I’m trying to ensure I’m not behind before we go away,” Cas says, close and warm. 

“Cas, man, you gotta cut yourself some slack. No point going away if you’re gonna torture yourself before we get there,” Dean says, “They at least paying you some overtime?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I think you need to quit your job and be home when I get home every damn day,” Dean says, “But, whatever, I’m not your boss.” 

Cas kisses him again before pulling away and starting to unpack the groceries. He’s not even going to be here after tomorrow, so this is Cas trying to make Dean’s life easier and… goddamn, the guy is thoughtful to a fault. The execution doesn’t always work out as planned, but Cas is an unlimited supply of good intentions and Dean gets to marry him. 

“Did you have a good flight, Sam?” 

“Yeah I did, thanks Cas,” Sam says, and the kid’s essentially already eaten most of his burger in two bites. Dean opts for eating his own in peace rather than making a point of it, because they don’t get many evenings for the three of them to hang out. They certainly don’t get enough. 

In the end, they watch Back to the Future for the six hundredth time. Dean drinks slightly too much beer to stop himself overthinking, then winds up being more physically affectionate with Cas than he usually would in front of his little brother (all PG stuff, but he doesn’t usually let Cas mess with his hair or draw reassuring circles on Dean’s thigh with his thumb when Sam’s with them). Sam opts not to call Amelia to say that he landed safe when Dean suggests it before they put on the film, which Dean finds fundamentally suspect but doesn’t comment on. 

They eat far too much of Dean’s risotto off trays on the sofa, he gets to tease Sam, laugh more than he has in a weeks and go to bed far far too late. It’s sort of wonderful. 

* 

Thursday morning sucks. 

Castiel seems to take Dean crawling over to his side of the bed and under his arm in his stride, which is how Dean winds up hiding his face in Cas’ chest, with the tips of Cas’ finger skating up his spine and his other hand raking through his hair. 

“Hi,” Dean mutters, finally looking up at him. His chest hurts. He really, really hates how much his fucked up head screws everything up. He hates how he has all these shitty thoughts about how he’s worthless and needy and messing everything up pressing in it all sides. It’s like they’re suffocating all the joy out of his brain, with insecurity and this excruciating vulnerability. Goddamnit. 

“Hi,” Cas parrots back, pausing the movement of both hands for a split second before Dean blinks at him. “It’s only a few nights.” 

“New plan,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “I’ll leave the window open, you sneak back here every night. No one will ever know.” 

“Gabriel might notice,” 

“Don’t care,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, cupping a hand under his jaw and smiling at him, “I love you very much,” 

“Then tell Sam to stuff it,” Dean says, forehead creased and, fucking hell, this shouldn’t be such a big deal. Yeah, they haven’t been apart for a whole twelve nights since the whole Dean-leaving-Cas-cheating-saga, but… goddamn, he shouldn’t be freaking out about it this much. Cas seems _fine_. He’s not latching himself onto Dean’s side and throwing a tantrum, because apparently Cas is capable of being a functioning human being, without Dean. He probably should be glad about that, but instead it just stirs up some crappy feeling in his gut. “And stay with me,” 

“Forever, Dean,” 

“Yeah, forever after next Saturday,” Dean mutters, “Fuck this.” 

“Dean,” 

I know I’m being needy and insecure and dumb, I just… bad timing,” Dean says, hiding his face in Cas’ skin again, because he just needs it. He _needs_ Cas. 

“I’m going to miss you too,” Cas says, “Come up here,” 

“No,” 

“No?” 

“No,” Dean repeats, “I’m staying buried in your chest, so fucking deal.” 

“This will be inconvenient for work,” 

“Screw your job,” 

“Think of how excellent the sex will be afterwards,” 

“You could not piss off to Gabriel’s stupid hotel room and we could still have great sex,” Dean says, “There’s nothing logical about this crap, Cas, try a different angle.” 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” 

“I am totally in fucking love with every single second of the day, dude, there is no fonder. I could not appreciate you more than I have in these past couple of weeks. Man, I know I’m not exactly an easy prospect right now. I’m annoying. I pick fights. I purposefully piss you off all the damn time and I get at you about your stupid boss and stuff you do just cause you’ve got so much frigging heart, but that stuff’s on me. You deal with my whining about therapy and shuttin’ you out and you don’t care if these stupid pills turn me into an obese, vomiting monk, s’long as _I_ feel better. You are a goddamn _saint_ and the reason I’m not six hundred times more of a mess.” Dean says, vaguely aware that Cas’ aborted the motion of running his fingers through his hair which is a shame, actually, because it was helping with the constant noise in his head. “You’re fucking _everything_ with your eternal causes. You’re like, hardwired to just be committed to good, and to care until it hurts. You’re fierce and compassionate and, just, hilarious and _interesting_ and sexy as fuck, always. Then you’re so frigging cute, too, and you always make me coffee and look after me and respect my damn boundaries, even when they’re infuriating. I _miss_ you when you’re home an hour late from work, Cas. You’re my best friend and I do not need some bullshit time apart to appreciate that.” 

“Dean, it is of the upmost important that you kiss me right now,” Cas says, blue eyes crystal clear and wide. Dean’s obeying the command before he’s really processed it and has Cas flipping them over and pinning him to the bed before he’s had a chance to think. “You are _exceptional_.” 

“I’m blabbering,” 

“Dean Winchester, you are my life,” Cas says, so sincere it almost hurts. “Thank you,” 

“That mean you’re gonna tell Sam where to shove his time apart?” 

“It’s very tempting,” Cas says, then kisses again. “Perhaps if you explained in a similar way to Sam?” 

The thought makes him want to change his name and drive to the most northern part of Canada which Cas knows full well and is probably why he suggested it. If Dean feels like explaining the whole depression thing to Sam, he could probably make a case for why now is absolutely the worst time to be temporarily splitting them up, but he doesn’t want to, so he probably has to fucking deal. 

“You think Sam’s thing with Amelia is off?” Dean asks, which has Cas frowning at him. “Like, his phone was dying when I picked him up from the airport. He didn’t charge it when we were back so… he can’t have checked in with her.” 

“He could have charged it after we went to bed,” 

“Yeah, after it’s too late to have a conversation,” 

“There’s a time difference,” 

“She starts work early,” 

“I forget how invested you are in Sam’s relationships,” Cas says, smiling slightly, “I don’t know, Dean. Although I would suggest not leading with that line with Sam,” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s Sam,” Cas says, “He knows something’s wrong, Dean. I very much doubt he’s going to let it slide. This is your brother who extracted the whole story of Sonny’s from you on the day of our college graduation. If you start picking at his relationship, he isn’t going to take too kindly to the double standard.” 

“Ah, fuck,” Dean mutters, returning to hiding his face in Cas’ skin because it’s _easier_ than facing the real world. “Can you fix it?” 

“No,” Cas says, dutifully wrapping his arms around him like the kick ass, wonderful fucking fiancé he is. “I would also like to report an injustice. You never allow me to indulge in telling you how and why I love you and your so called ‘babbling’ was beautiful.” 

“You’re beautiful. Shut up.” 

Cas beams at him. 

They’re being grossly affectionate and throwing around overblow compliments, sporadically making out and superfluously touching for another fifteen minutes before Cas breaks the spell of their cosy, secure world and suggests they need to get out of bed and go to work. Still, he’s hoping it’ll be enough to keep him going until next Saturday. It won’t. Dean’s pretty certain he’s not going to make it through to the end of the day without a total breakdown, but he’s sort of stuck with it. 

* 

"You got all your stuff?" Dean asks, even though they've been over this half a dozen times this morning and Cas is probably beginning to get irritated. "Your phone charger, dumb briefcase, something to hit Gabriel over the head with?" 

"I'll use the briefcase," Cas smiles, facing him in the kitchen. The guy's made breakfast and is definitely going to be late for work (AKA the time his contracted to arrive rather than the time he's gotta arrive to get all the crap done), but he doesn't seem to give a shit. Hell, Sam is busy eating Cas' pancakes and Dean doesn't even care that he's being witness to their big, embarrassingly soppy goodbye. 

"I like the way you think," Dean says, "Call me if anything comes up. Or if doesn't." 

Cas stretches forward to kiss him and, goddamn it, why are they doing this again? Dean pulls him closer using his hips and kisses him some more before turning it into a hug. 

"Have a good day at work," Cas says, soft and quiet as if he was telling him something profound and secret. "I'll text you." 

"You better," 

"I should go, Dean." Cas says, which makes his chest ache a lot, so Dean kisses him again before letting him go. 

"Alright, get out of here asshat," 

"Love you," 

"Castiel, get to work." 

"Guys," Sam says from over his coffee, "It's less than two weeks." 

"I'll walk you to the car," Dean declares, pretending Sam hasn't even spoken, because he fucking knows it's less than two weeks, but it's still pointless misery. Plus, he’s aware they’re both being completely pathetic, but… hell, they’re getting married. Sam should cut them a little slack. 

They’re getting fucking _married_. 

* 

Frankly, the last thing he wants to do is _request_ an extended lunch hour (and fucking damnit that he told Sam all about his flex-time privileges) to meet Sam at the goddamn mall to parade around in some dumb penguin suit. Yet here he is, swallowing down a crappy sandwich that Sam _graciously_ picked up for him. It has salad in. There’s cheese and chicken, too, but he can barely taste it through the goddamn leaves. 

Sam is wittering on about how, despite Dean’s selfish, thoughtlessness in not going to the damn mall when Sam asked him too, his tux is still reserved and waiting for them. Dean’s pretending to care. He really is. Facing Sam’s unwavering excitement about this is reminding him why he agreed to let him organise the whole damn thing anyway and, damnit, Dean is stupidly lucky to have a brother that cares this much. He is. He’s lucky that Sam has flown out for a whole two weeks to dick around sorting out a bunch of crap that means they’ll actually _be_ a wedding worth everyone travelling to Lawrence for. He’s lucky that Sam is his incredible little brother. 

He’s just so frigging paranoid about _everything_ he can’t remember how to act around Sam anymore. Cas bringing it up has made him more aware of _fake_ he’s been around Sam for years, and now he can’t stop noticing it, which makes it harder to pull it off with any degree of sincerity. 

Plus, he’s exhausted. Getting a decent amount of sleep is supposed to be pretty important for mental health, according to Chuck (like Dean didn’t spend like _three days_ sleeping at the beginning of this thing). Cas made him take the stupid pills whist they were doing their, like, third version of goodbye by his car, even though they’re not fucking working. He desperately wants to go home and get in bed, but it’s not an option until this stupid lunch with Sam the rest of the working day _and_ his appointment with Chuck. 

“Dean, are you even listening?” 

“Yes,” Dean says. Sam sends him a bitchface. “You were saying you cry through sex and enjoy flower arranging in your spare time. Come on, Sam, I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“Barely,” Sam mutters, then Dean gets a fucking tux thrust at him. 

“You talked to Amelia today?” Dean asks, frowning at him. 

“I’ll text her later,” Sam says, then, “What’s going on with you, Dean?” 

“Nothing,” Dean says, snatching the tuxedo out of his hands and heading for the changing cubicle. The faster they’ve concluded he looks like mutton dressed as lamb but is going to wear it anyway, the faster they can ditch this joint and do something that sucks a little less. 

“Right,” Sam says, “Dean, I know you,” 

“Huh,” Dean says, “Figured if you _knew me_ you’d know exactly what I’m about to say.” 

“Shut up, Sam?” Sam suggests which, damnit, is exactly what he was about to say. Obviously, because he and Sam grew up in each other pocket’s and are utterly transparent to each other. It’s not like Dean can’t read through Sam instantaneously, too. 

“Shut up,” 

“Jerk,” 

“Bitch,” Dean says, pulling his shirt over his head to face down this stupid tux and dress shirt and, holy hell, _why_ did he let Sam pick this out? “What are _you_ wearing, anyway?” 

“A different colour tie thing,” 

“Awesome,” Dean mutters darkly, “We’re gonna look like a well-dressed boy band. A goddamn barbershop quartet.” 

“Can Cas sing?” 

“No,” 

“I know something was up, Dean,” Sam says, “I heard what Cas said,” 

“Enigmatic doesn’t suit you,” Dean says, pulling on the pants and stopping short because, damnit, they don’t _fit_. There’s no hope in hell they’re doing up. “Be specific, Sam, Cas has said a lot of crap in the past decade.” 

“About your sex life.” 

“You wanna talk about my sex life, Sam. Really?” 

“You seem fine now,” 

“We were never _not_ fine,” Dean says, “And I hate to crush your dreams, Sam, but this doesn’t fit.” 

Sam pulls back the damn curtain because he’s a pain in the ass and apparently has limited respect for Dean’s privacy. The shirt is mostly-fine, but everything else is uncomfortably tight. 

“If you _gave_ me your measurements instead of just plucking some number out the air,” Sam begins, and Dean can tell this is going to be one of those lectures that builds up steam rather than loses momentum and he’d rather not hear the whole damn thing. 

“I did,” Dean interrupts, “Cas cornered me with a frigging tape measure. Borderline sexual assault, frankly, but you got your damn measurements.” 

“Well _clearly_ I didn’t, Dean, otherwise it would fit,” Sam says, making to try and straighten up the stupid suit jacket until Dean batts his hands away because, yeah, no way. 

“I probably just put on weight, okay?” Dean snaps. He feels like shit. He feels like crap in this stupid tux that doesn’t fit and Sam trying to assess whether he believes him or not and, damnit, Cas must have noticed. At least more than Dean noticed, anyway, because… yeah, he was kind of aware that he was falling a little out of shape, has been for a while, but now he’s properly _looking_ at himself. He’s skipped going to the gym with Benny because leaving the house seemed like some impossible feet. His primary coping mechanism is drinking beer and eating high carb high sugar foods so, yeah, it’s not a surprise that his stupid fucking mental health is now spilling out over the top of this stupid tux, but it’s not appreciated. He doesn’t need another damn thing to mentally beat himself up over. 

He’d never even _thought_ about this kind of stuff still he started getting older. He knew he was kind of objectively good looking so, whatever. It’s dumb to be thinking about it now, too, because Cas isn’t going to care, and everyone else can go screw themselves. He _does_ care, though, which in itself is another thing to add to the list of reasons to be pissed off at himself for. 

“Dean, I put them on order, like, six weeks ago, and it’s not like you haven’t always eaten like you’re gunning for a heart attack.” 

“Yeah, well, you hit the big three zero and that’s it,” Dean says, then, because he’s an idiot and he’s distracted and he’s talking more to his reflection than his brother. “Fucking meds.” 

“What _meds_?” 

“What?” Dean asks, turning round and blinking himself out of it. 

“What meds?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sammy. Guess we’re looking for another tux.” 

“Dean,” Sam says, “ _What_ are you taking medication for?” 

“Stuff,” 

“Stuff?” 

“Yeah, stuff. Like I don’t want to talk about it, stuff. Like none of your damn business stuff.” Sam just _looks_ at him in that way that nearly breaks his heart and is the reason Sam always got the last lucky charms, even when there was nothing else to frigging eat. “Nothing serious, Sam, I just don’t wanna talk about it in my lunch break, okay? Later.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, “I’ll find someone to talk to about the suit,” 

“Awesome,” Dean mutters and resists the urge to put his fist through the mirror, only by pulling his phone out of the pile of clothes on the floor and texting Cas ( _you still wanna marry me if Sam has to roll me down the fucking aisle_ to which he gets a reply, within ten minutes, reminding him that they aren’t having an aisle and _also, of course Dean_ ). Some poor woman comes over to judge his weight gain for a few seconds before coming back with an armful of more tuxedos. 

Sam is thrilled to discover they have one in the right size, even if Dean isn’t particularly. Still, it winds up taking less time than he was expecting to, so he demands that they go for a coffee or something that doesn’t make him want to punch someone. 

“You texting Cas?” Sam asks, when they’re finally out of the shop and somewhere that sells coffee. His mood's completely tanking, so he gets an extra shot of coffee in his. It’s gonna do jack shit, especially when he’s got therapy to contend with later, which is probably the reason why he feels sort of hollowed out in the first place. 

“Hmm? Yeah,” Dean says, swallowing, then forcing himself to put his phone down. Sam flew all the way out from California to hang out. Cas is probably right in that Dean owes him his full, undivided attention. He wants to give it to him, too, but everything hurts. 

“You guys seem… different,” 

“Different,” Dean repeats, taking a sip of his coffee. His head is beginning to hurt. Regulating his behaviour in front of Sam is exhausting, but he’s forgotten how else to act. He’s not entirely sure he ever knew. 

And ‘different’ is just fucking perfect, because he’s sure Bobby, Ellen, Charlie and the rest of the nutjobs he call family will think they’re ‘different’ too and he’d put money on none of them taking ‘newlyweds’ as a reasonable answer. They’ve been together for nearly a third of their lives already; there isn’t much that _is_ new. 

His cell vibrates on the table. It lights up with Cas’ name and the first line of message, which means that Sam definitely read Cas’ _I love you too_. 

“You’re not usually so… open,” Sam says, “Scratch that. You don’t let me see you be vulnerable, period.” 

“Maybe I’m just six foot of impenetrable solid steel. Ever think of that?” 

“I’ve never heard you say I love you to Cas,” Sam says, like this is some profound statement. Dean’s in too much of an emotional rut to deal with this right now, but apparently it’s happening whether Dean’s ready to deal or not. He loves Sam to pieces but, holy shit, he forgot how _annoying_ his little brother is. 

“What? Obviously I love Cas,” 

“Dean, I know, but I've never heard you _say_ that to anyone,” Sam says and, fucking hell, this is definitely too heavy for his damn lunch break. 

“So, what, the reason you're screwed up and not settled is ‘cause I didn't whisper sweet nothings to you after I tucked you in and told you not to be scared of the monsters under your bed?” Dean asks, setting his coffee down and staring his brother right in the face. 

“You didn't tell me not to be scared of the monsters under my bed, Dean, you told me to quit being such a baby and then sat up and watched over me all night.” 

“I was nine. I didn't know for sure you were making the monsters up.” 

“Dean, what do you mean I'm not settled?” Sam asks and, oh yeah, Cas was probably right about not getting at the guy about his dead end relationship before he opened up about his crap. There’s a dangerous edge to Sam’s voice which makes Dean feel _worse_ but he’s the kind of fucking idiot that can’t control his own mouth. 

“Come on, Sam, you know what I mean.” 

“No I don't,” 

“I mean that you're stalling. You're not invested in this relationship with Amelia, you're not planning any kind of future. You’re coasting, Sam, and you've been doing for years. I know we don’t exactly have a nuclear family unit, but you're not even gunning for anything, and I don't get it.” 

“Dean, I'm just not there yet. Maybe you've been ready to settle down with Cas since the day you were assigned each other as roommates, but that's not me, and it's not the you you let me see, either.” 

“Okay, I love you, Sam, you feel better now?” 

“That’s not what I'm talking about.” Sam bitchfaces, setting down his own coffee, clearly frustrated. Sam really is trying, just like Cas said, and Dean’s doing a shitty job of respecting him for it. Of being his brother. 

“Well what do you want from me, Sam?” 

“I'm just saying, Dean, you don't need to protect me from whatever it is that you think you're protecting me from. I'm not a kid, anymore. I'm not your responsibility and you're still not Dad. And you haven't even met Amelia yet, Dean, and you're already making assumptions.” 

“Because I just heard the way you talked about her. Dude, you sounded more enthusiastic about the dog. You haven’t called her since you got here. Pretty sure you haven’t even _text_ the girl.” 

“Dean,” Sam interrupts and Dean can just _tell_ that Sam is about to spout off some more crap about how he’s fine, how Amelia is great, how Dean’s being judgemental and doesn’t know anything about relationships because he’s had like, two in his life. At a push. 

_Sam_

is the one who doesn’t know, though, because, against all odds, Sam is the one who never really commits. 

“You didn't trust Ruby one fucking bit, but you were still way more enthusiastic about her than this Amelia chick,” Dean says, even though Sam really hates him bringing Ruby it. Whatever. Anything that helps the point hit home because…. Because Cas thinks that Sam _needs_ him and Dean’s a really crappy thing to rely on right now. “You know what me and Cas did last weekend? Stay up all night talking about fucking religion. Cas gave me a lecture on the damn bible and his own personal theology of sex. Next day we had a blazing row about the frigging dishes. That's a relationship. Being invested enough that they drive you half fucking crazy, and still caring about what they've got to say after ten years, okay? I get excited to see Cas after he's been away for like a night. We text when he's at work. You've been here two days and you haven't even looked at your cell, and you've been seeing this girl for a few weeks.” 

“That's you, Dean, that's not how it is for most people,” Sam says and, goddamnit, yeah… they’re the exception, but they’re also really not. There’s nothing particularly special about the way they love each other. He’s heard enough of his friend’s disintegrating relationships and even frigging marriages to know that their ‘profound bond’ as Cas once described it isn’t special. It’s just that they’re absolutely and a hundred percent committed to making it work, not taking advantage of each other, communicating, making _time_ for each other, because the years of shared experiences and common ground are damned important. Maybe _most_ people aren’t more in love ten years on than when they first met, but not being invested in the beginning is just.. it’s dumb. 

“I _know_ me and Cas are kind of a miracle, but it’s at least supposed to be at the beginning, Sam, even if it dies after a couple of months. You're not into her. You're just playing house because she's broken and you figure you can be broken together, or you can fix her, I just don't get where you suddenly got this idea that you don't deserve to be with someone you actually like,” 

“Right, Dean, because you get the monopoly on feeling sorry for yourself and low self-esteem,” Sam snaps. He looks like he regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but there’s no pretending their not hanging between them now. They’re too _true_ for that. 

“I need to get back to work,” Dean says, forcing a grim smile and pocketing his phone. 

“Dean…” 

“Remember you’re picking up Cas and his tux,” Dean says, pulling on his leather jacket. “Later, Sam,” 

He spends the last hour of work beating himself up over it, because it’s not Sam’s fault. Sam doesn’t know, because Dean didn’t want Sam to know, so Sam’s just calling it the way Dean’s let him see it. It’s hardly unfair of him to say it, actually, and Dean shouldn’t have fucking pushed. Cas _told_ him not to. Even _Cas_ knows better how to navigate conversations better with Dean’s brother than Dean does, he’s that fucking useless right now. 

* 

Therapy is a cluster fuck. He’s on the edge of a panic attack before he walks into the damn room, anyway, but then Chuck decides it’s a good time to start talking about his goddamn father. He told Chuck to drop it. He _told_ Chuck to leave that bullshit aside, preferably forever, but the accumulation of the whole frigging disaster was Dean _crying_ and storming the hell out. 

He gets as far as the parking lot before his momentum runs out. It’s been a long fucking day. He’s pissed off Sam, he _is_ putting on weight, the stupid pills he’s been taking for nearly three weeks aren’t _working_. He needs to catch a goddamn break. He needs something that isn’t a shitty therapy appointment then going back to his house without _Cas_ , probably to an awkward silence with Sam, because after so many years of doing every single thing for Sam’s welfare, he doesn’t even know how to tell the his brother he wants to adopt or that he’s fucking depressed. God _damn_ , but Dean needs to get his crap together. 

He calls Cas from the car park. The guy answers on the second ring because he’s an actual angel. 

"Can you come pick me up?" Dean asks. His voice cracks half way through, which is mortifying and awful but he can’t exactly do anything about it. 

"I'm with Sam," 

"Don't care, man, I need you." 

"Ten minutes," Cas says, even though it’s definitely more than a ten minute drive. Ten minutes sounds doable, though. Anything longer than that feels completely impossible. 

“Okay, see you in ten.” Dean says, then ends the call, because he knows Cas won’t want to and it’ll get him there faster. Fuck this. There’s nothing quite as embarrassing as been too frigging emotional to drive his sorry ass home but, hey, he’s a fucking adult sat on the steps up to the docs trying not to have a panic attack, tears drying on his face. That’s his reality. He needs to fucking accept it. 

Chuck comes out to join him a few minutes later, which Dean’s definitely not expecting. He figured yelling at the guy and walking out was a fast pass ticked to being thrown out of therapy, but instead Chuck is sitting down next to him on the steps. 

“You planning on driving?” 

“Cas is coming to pick me up,” Dean mutters, not looking up at him. He didn’t sign up for this. 

“They should start to work in the next week or so,” Chuck says, slightly sheepish. Frankly, Dean would prefer it if he’d left it well alone. He prefers to pretend the guy doesn’t exist outside his appointment room. No one should know that much about his inner thoughts, even if he stuck to Dean’s rule about skipping the technical shit and _definitely_ not referring to the damn pills as anti-depressants. “Or we’ll try something else.” 

“Fucking A that this is just some trial and error bullshit,” Dean says, “And, for the record, if these sex-killer pills ruin my honeymoon, I will hunt you down,” 

“But no side effects so far?” Chuck nods, voice slightly higher than normal. 

“Except the weight gain and the fact that I’m _still depressed_ ,” 

He looks up at the familiar sound of Cas’ car pulling into the parking lot. He made scary good time, then he’s crossing the lot at alarming speed, with Sam trailing behind him looking about as confused as he probably is. Just _perfect_. 

Dean stands up. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” Dean rolls his eyes (with minimal enthusiasm), digging the impala keys out of his pocket and chucking them in Sam’s direction. “Thanks for volunteering for picking up Gabe from their airport, Sam, it’s appreciated.” 

“What -?” 

“So you’re Cas?” Chuck asks, standing up and looking at Sam and Cas wearily. “And Sam?” 

“Chuck?” Cas guesses. 

“Alright, let’s speed this along,” Dean mutters, because the last thing he needs is everyone meeting his fucking therapist. Especially Sam. Shit, he really needs to talk to his little brother. 

“Congratulations in advance,” 

“Thank you,” 

“Don’t wanna keep Gabriel waiting,” Dean says. Sam catches his eye and must read a little of the desperation, because he nods slowly, spins the impala keys rounds his finger and _stares_ a little more. 

“Yeah, right,” Sam says, even though the original plan had Cas picking Gabriel up _after_ their little shopping trip. He'll probably get there about the same time as they basically drove in the wrong direction to pick it up, but it saves leaving either car here overnight or having to deal with Sam's questions. "Been a while since I've driven her." 

“Dean,” Cas mutters, when Sam’s heading back to the car and Dean can breathe a little more. He just lets Cas pull him into a hug, even though Sam can see and is probably judging him and his fucking psychiatrist is right there, and he’s being a big baby. 

“Can we go home?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, sparing Chuck a poor attempt at the nod goodbye, before his attention is back to _Dean_. God, but Cas is the best. And Sam, too. Dean doesn’t have a damn clue why they put up with him. 

He manages to survive the car journey only by slamming his eyes shut and humming along to Metallica, which Cas dutifully pretends isn’t fucking crazy, then the tears start rolling the second their back through the door. This is the second time he’s had a complete fucking meltdown in front of Cas in the past month and he is not happy with those kind of statistics. 

“I am so fucking bad at life,” Dean says, chest aching, “Why aren’t these stupid pills working?” 

“Give it time, Dean,” 

“Do you _know_ how hard that is, Cas?” Dean asks, clutching him and blinking and, goddamnit, he just wants his fucking dignity back. This crying lark is bullshit. He wants to just be _happy_ and not be _fighting_ to keep going all the time. 

“No, I don’t,” Cas says, “What can I do?” 

“I just wanna go back to bed and pretend this whole day hasn’t happened,” 

“We can do that,” Cas says, gentle, with a hand resting on Dean’s lower back. 

“What did you tell Sam?” 

“I told him you were feeling unwell,” Cas says, pretty much leading him upstairs, “And that you wanted me to pick you up,” 

“Wish you’d just told him the truth,” 

“That is the truth,” Cas says, “And no, Dean, you don’t.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” 

“You may have issues with vulnerability,” Cas says, “but you will be more irritated with yourself if you don’t have this conversation with Sam yourself. However, that’s not important right now,” Cas says, stripping off his suit jacket and loosening his damn tie. “If you don’t feel any better tomorrow I will speak with Sam. He told me what he said earlier.” 

“Since when are you and my brother best friends?” Dean asks, already sat under the covers, the fact that he’s fully dressed be damned. 

“This is exactly what I mean,” Cas frowns, sitting on the other side of the bed to take off his shoes. Dean kicked his off somewhere in the direction of the door, but Cas does shit properly. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, Dean.” 

“How’s your tux?” 

“I like it,” Cas says, turning into Dean’s space and pulling the covers over both of them, “I’m excited about wearing it.” 

“I’m excited about getting you out of it,” Dean says, even if it’s not exactly an accurate representation of his heads space right now. It makes Cas smile, at any rate, which might be the first win he’s had today. Cas curls up close to him, even though it’s like before dinner time and the guy can’t possibly be tired, and tucks himself under Dean’s arm like Dean isn’t a total, emotional wreck. “You know, this is totally just a rouse to avoid this dumb separation thing,” 

“Very effective,” Cas says, pressing a kiss to the bolt of Dean’s jaw, “Good thinking.” 

“Dude, I’m like the worst at thinking,” Dean says, but he feels a little better now he can just _close_ his eyes and breathe. It’s more than a little lame that his bed is his safe-space, but it’s easy. It’s good. It’s _simple_. It’s such a relief. “Thank you, Cas.” 

Cas just shifts a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless story continues to aggressively not end...
> 
> Also, this was largely written on my six year old netbook who's O key has given up and who's y, u, i and p keys aren't all that active either, so sorry about the probable number of typos here.


	9. Chapter 9

“You’re up,” Cas mutters, wondering into the kitchen shirtless, wearing what’s definitely a pair of Dean’s sweats and looking completely out of it. Dean woke up at some point in the middle of the night when Cas was just getting back into bed, so it figures that he got up at some point after Dean went to sleep (which, yeah, he would have done if he followed his depressed fiancé to bed before seven PM; watching Dean whilst he sleeps can only be so interesting), he just doesn’t know _when_ that was. 

“Dude, I went to bed at like _seven_ ,” Dean says, “I slept for eleven hours.” 

“Did it help?” 

“I’m up and making French toast,” Dean says, pausing to kiss the guy and keeping him captured under his arm, because Cas is fucking incredible and he might owe him for yesterday for ever, and just because he wants to. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t think before coffee,” Cas comments, settling into Dean’s touch and pressing his forehead against Dean’s chest. His winds up running his thumb over the base of Cas’ neck on more or less automatic, because not touching Cas is just… unnatural. “You look nice this morning.” 

“Coffee’s brewing,” 

“And you’re making French toast?” Cas blinks. 

“Your favourite, right?” 

“No, you’re my favourite,” Cas returns, “I don’t want to leave you,” 

“I’ll be fine, Cas.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about your wellbeing,” Cas says, still chest to chest. “My mornings are considerably worse when you aren’t involved in them. Particularly when you cook. Also, did I mention you look nice?” 

“How tried are you?” Dean asks, voice laced with amusement. He pretty much loves it when Cas has just woken up, bleary and before his filters have really kicked in. He’s frigging adorable and the resulting affection-spike is alarming on a good day. Today he’s already hyper-aware of how much Cas does for him, so Cas being all cute and sleepy just heightens it even further. 

“Very,” Cas says, “But you do,” 

“Well thanks, Cas,” Dean says, smiling slightly. “I’m gonna talk to Sam this weekend. Talk it out. Don’t really have a choice, now. Yesterday was… a fucking mess.” Cas’ expression twists in sympathy at that, which doesn’t help. He did _not_ need Sam so close to all of this before they had a chance to talk about it. “He pissed?” 

“Worried,” 

“Awesome,” Dean mutters, looking away. “So fucking done with this depression shit.” 

“Things will take a while to improve,” 

“Change the frigging record, Cas,” 

“Dean,” 

“Sorry, crap,” Dean says, swallowing again. He’s being a dick when he absolutely didn’t mean to be. “Just, sit the fuck down and let me fix your breakfast. Okay?” 

“I’m not done with you yet,” Cas counters, frigging pouting at him and pressing closer to get a hug, like they’re not already all over each other and maxing out on physical contact. Still, yesterday was rough and there's something easy about his fingertips finding their usual resting places on the small of Cas' back, marinating in the solid warmth of Cas sleepy and close. And his lips are just right there, that familiar, soft curve and, fuck, but Dean's so in love with the guy. 

“That’s handy,” Dean throws back, “Cause I’m marrying you next week.” 

“Eight days,” 

“I wanna marry you right now,” Dean says, low and quiet, which gets Cas reaching for his cheek and smiling at him like everything isn’t a complete mess. 

"We should have done this years ago," 

"Maybe, but, it's special now. I swear, Cas, I'm a little more gone on you every damn day and we... we're really good right now. I mean, I'm kind of having a breakdown, the adoption plan is going to shit, your job is ruining your life -" 

"- my life is fine, Dean." 

" – but I feel like we’re pushing at those last couple of barriers we have up around each other and we’re really relying on each other, you know? I wanna commit to that. To _us_." 

"You're not making it any easier for me to leave." 

"Maybe that's my cunning plan,” 

"I'm going to kiss you now." Cas says and, damnit, but Dean has no idea how the guy can make everything so much better and so much more manageable by just existing. The whole of yesterday feels a long way away when he has Cas so close. It's a good kiss. The kind of kiss that he's only ever had with Cas, because it's excruciatingly serious and full of _stuff_ ; like it's just an overflow of emotions and warmth and home. 

"Uh, guys," Sam coughs from the doorway, “I think you’re burning breakfast.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean says, breaking away to salvage some of the French toast, which he can see is clearly beyond recovery the second he’s actually concentrating. It’s a wonder the stench of burnt egg didn’t pull him out their little love fest but, well, Cas is distracting. 

“Apologies,” Cas says, sounding the exact opposite of apologetic. 

“Sit down and drink your coffee, Cas.” 

“And maybe put on a shirt?” Sam suggests, sitting down heavily in one of their spare chairs. 

“You heard the guy,” Dean says, pouring Sam coffee instead, lest the guy is genuinely scarred by walking in on him being soppy with his shitless fiancée. The shirtless thing would probably have been fine but for the fact that their previous dry spell was over wasn’t clearly written across the guy’s skin but, well… sue Dean for being enthusiastic. Still, that’s probably something his little brother did not need to know about. “What’s on the agenda today, Sam?” Dean asks, setting the coffee down in front of him as Cas trudges off to get adequately dressed. He probably forgot Sam was even here, the guy’s so out of it before caffeination. 

“Seating plans,” 

Part of his internal resolutions for making everything up to Sam was to try and really, actually care about the wedding, to the point of genuine engagement. It’s okay right now, because Dean feels more or less okay this morning. 

“Wow,” Dean says, “You should put all of mine and Cas’ ex-lays on the same table. See if they figure it out.” 

“Seriously? You have enough people you’ve slept with coming to make a _table_.” 

“I dunno,” Dean says, “Who’s coming? I lost track in July.” 

“Out of your friends? Charlie, Benny, Garth, Meg, Crowley, Balthazar, Samandiriel…” 

“Is Cas’ cousin Anna coming?” 

“Uh… yeah?” 

“Could make, like, half a table then,” Dean says, restarting the French toast. 

“ _Please_ tell me neither of you slept with Garth.” Dean laughs at that, which he’s not really expecting (because, they’re in the upward curve, here, but yesterday he probably would have self-reported a complete inability to _actually_ laugh), but its a relief all the same. “Are we going to talk about yesterday?” 

“Later,” Dean says, topping up his own coffee. “Gabriel okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “He’s kind of a dick,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Thanks for picking him up.” 

“Have you heard from Mrs Novak yet?” 

“No,” Dean swallows, taking another sip of coffee. “Or Michael or Lucifer so, just… don’t mention it to Cas. Assume they’re not coming so there’s no glaringly empty seats. As far as I’m concerned, if they turn up they can sit in the frigging toilets but – “ 

“– are you talking about my mother?” 

“Guilty,” Dean says, glancing up as Cas re-enters, actually dressed for work this time. They haven’t really been talking about the lack of RSVPs from most of Cas’ immediate family, because there’s nothing good to say about it. Dean’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Cas feels about the situation and talking it out isn’t going to make them more or less likely to show up. 

“If it’s possible, I would prefer Lucifer and my mother to sit together and Michael to be on a separate table, preferably with someone who’s not easily offended. I think Gabriel would prefer to be sat somewhere else entirely.” 

“Cas,” Dean begins, throat tight. 

“Gabriel’s on the top table with us, anyway,” Sam says, glancing at Dean but keeping his expression in check. 

“Thank you, Sam,” 

“Oh, Benny’s misses and kid are coming, too. He text me yesterday,” Dean says, mostly to move the conversation along. He just… he doesn’t want Cas pinning all his hope on them showing and it not happening, but he can’t _make_ any of them come to their wedding and anything he does it probably going to make it less likely. 

“I thought they split up?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “But Elizabeth wants to come and, well, people drink at weddings. So she’s supervising. Trust only goes so far, I guess. You know, the guy’s on a _sex ban_ for a frigging year for rehab. Anyway, breakfast’s up,” 

“A year?” Cas questions, sounding mildly horrified as Dean passes him a plate. “Thank you,” 

“Yeah thanks, Dean,” Sam says, as Dean passes him his too. This morning feels okay. This morning feels entirely manageable, but he still got to deal with a full day’s work and then talking to Sam about a million or so things that Dean is absolutely not comfortable with talking to Sam about. 

Dean takes his canister of anti-depressants out of his pocket and swallows one with half a glass of water that he’d poured himself before any of them came downstairs, purely for that purpose. He can feel them both watching him, but the stupid pills don’t say the words ‘anti-depressants’ anywhere and, besides, Sam’s probably put two and two together by now anyway. He said he’d sort it with Sam and he will. Sam googling the name of his pills will probably only make the conversation easier. He already told Sam about the stupid medication, then proceeded to have a fucking breakdown in front of him. Sam seeing him take them isn’t going to make much difference at this point. 

Cas rests one of his hands on Dean’s knee till he has to dash off to work and they have to do the goodbye thing all over again. They don’t drag it out as much the second time because Dean’s in a slightly better headspace and a little more able to deal, but it’s still unnecessarily hard. 

* 

He calls Cas from the Impala about thirty seconds after he’s pulled into their driveway. He wasn’t expecting Cas to respond, but then these past few months Cas has been taking a much more lax view on answering his cell whilst he’s at work (even though he should have finished by now, he probably won't have done.) 

“Cas, how do I talk to Sam about _any_ of this stuff?” 

“Hello, Dean,” 

“Yeah, hi, love you, hope your day’s been frigging fantastic. Now will you _help_?” 

“Truly, I don’t think I can,” Cas says. He still sounds tired, which sends Dean’s Cas sensors into a panic but… it’s probably just the thought of Gabriel and the next week apart. “He’s your brother,” 

“Hasn’t stopped you butting in these past weeks,” 

“Dean, do not use me to vent your frustration when I’m apparently not allowed to _see_ you until our wedding. I am sorry I don’t have the answer, but that is not actually my fault.” 

“Nice,” 

“Dean,” 

“No, I deserved that. I’m hiding in my car, dude. Why do I do that?” Dean asks, still squinting through the window to work out which room Sam’s in. The guy’s probably heard him pull into the driveway, so he’s just making an ass of himself the longer he stays outside. 

“Because it’s your safe space,” 

“Wasn’t looking for an answer there, buddy,” 

“I’m not your buddy,” Cas sighs, “I am your fiancé,” 

“Damn right you are,” Dean says, “Okay. Sorry I’m such a dick. Guess I’m going inside.” 

“Try not to overthink,” Cas says, “Call me later,” 

“Copy that,” Dean says, “Try and have some fun with Gabriel, you hear me? He’s not around all that much either. And send me a picture if he does anything humiliating.” 

“Go talk to Sam,” Cas says, but he sounds like he might be smiling now, which at least makes up for Dean being such an ass for the rest of their phone conversation. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, before hanging up and pocketing his cell. He is so not ready to walk into his own damn house and talk to his brother, but that probably isn’t going to change the longer he sits on his own driveway and there’s only so many times he can fob Sam off with ‘later’. 

Still, he gives himself another minute to breathe before heading inside. 

* 

Sam’s up to his stupid long hair cut in seating plans. 

“Dude, we have like… forty people coming to this shin ding. How can it be this hard?” Dean asks, grabbing himself a beer before pulling up a chair. He might feel less guilty about everything if he actually helps Sam with all the wedding plan stuff, but he’s not wholly convinced. It’s an easier lead in than bursting in with a ‘so I guess we need to talk, huh?’, though, so it’s still the preferable option. 

“I, uh, started reading one of Cas’ books,” 

“Right,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “Well, you got me and Cas sat next to each other. That’s a good start. Wasn’t sure you’d allow us after all this separation crap.” 

“Other than Cas’ brothers, is there anyone else that needs to be separated?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “If Meg could be sat as far away from me as possible, that would be stellar. Balthazar and Crowley probably shouldn’t sit together. Also, Balthazar and Michael. Or Lucifer. If either of those chuckleheads actually show. Anna _only_ speaks to Gabriel, the other cousins and Cas, so… maybe with Samandiriel and Hester over in some corner outside of Cas’ eye line, cause I reckon he’s still bitter about me sleeping with her a million years ago. Then… well, if there’s any way of sitting Benny next to people who aren’t gonna drink too much. Charlie, maybe? Not Rufus or Ellen. Okay, maybe I can see how this gets complicated. Damnit. Take out and beer?” 

“Sounds good,” 

“Good is a strong word,” Dean says, “This aint my idea of a fun Friday night, but whatever.” 

“Why are you guys getting married?” Sam asks, looking up from his stupid seating plan (which currently has the ripped up bit of paper with ‘Lucifer’ written on experimentally heaped next to the Meg and Crowley’s bits of paper, which sounds like the apocalypse waiting to happen). Sam can’t know why it’s a loaded question, but he still looks like he’s very aware that it is. 

That’s probably because their whole relationship has gotten so screwed up that neither of them have any idea about where the boundaries are anymore. Dean skipped straight over into digging at Sam’s relationship, which _clearly_ wasn’t okay given Sam’s reaction and the fact that Dean’s been keeping pretty much everything close to his chest. Sam questioned his frigging sex life and Dean’s vulnerability issues, for fuck’s sake, which are much closer to the bone than the depression and the adoption. None of it’s easy to talk about, but at least quoting some abstract label that probably applies to him is better than going into the nitty gritty of how that affects his sex life. Sam does not need to know about that, not only because he _still_ finds it embarrassing, even if he and Cas have talked about it now, but also because it’s genuinely none of Sam’s business. The adoption stuff clearly is and, well, Dean probably should have told him about all of that years ago. The fact that he’s taking anti-depressants has to be on the table for conversation, just because it’s kinda _big_ and it’s been affecting a whole bunch of areas of his life that intersect with Sam. Anyway, he doesn’t want Sam pushed out. It’s just it’s pretty difficult to pull him back in, too. 

“That’s your first question, Sam. Really?” Dean asks, staring at his beer for a few long seconds. “Of all the things you could ask, you gotta pick weddings?” 

“Figured I should start somewhere,” Sam shrugs, “We’d kind of all given up on you actually getting married you’ve been engaged so long…” 

That hadn't exactly been the plan, but he wasn't supposed to get the phone call about his Dad the same week they got engaged, either. It had freaked him out enough to get the rest of their shit wrapped up legally; Cas has been his emergency contact since they were students (for practical reasons), but then they got it fixed up that they were each other's next of kin and all of that crap, but he hadn't wanted to think about an actual frigging wedding. He'd known John might not come, but he didn't know it'd be cause he was ten feet under. By the time he'd dealt with that and could start thinking about something as inane as a wedding, they figured there wasn't actually much point and decided to buy a house instead. Not being _actually_ married was a technicality. It didn't make much a difference to their actually lives. 

“We need to talk, Dean,” 

“I know,” Dean says, running his hands over his face to give himself a second. “I’ve got no problem being married to Cas, I’m just not so hot on this wedding lark.” 

“I figured,” Sam says. 

“I’m not trying to be an ass about it,” Dean says, “I’m not, Sam, I know you’ve been putting all the work into this. I appreciate it, even if I’m acting like a dick. Things have been kind of crappy lately.” 

“I thought it might have been Cas’ idea,” 

“The wedding?” Dean asks, “Yeah, not so much. It’s a means to an end.” 

“Tax cut?” 

“Dude, sending invites to the Novak’s is not worth any kind of tax cut,” Dean says, “I would pay more taxes if it meant Cas’ dickbag family were officially out of our lives.” 

“They likely to come?” 

“Well, I’ve been in the same room as Naomi three times in the past decade,” Dean says, “A wedding, a christening and that time Cas talked me into a Novak Christmas. So… we’ll see. Are we gonna start the big talk then?” Dean asks, setting down his beer and glancing up at Sam. His eyes are kind of expectant in a way that makes Dean want to go hide in his and Cas' bedroom, but keeping Sam in the dark is unsustainable. It's worse for his mental health to over think his communication with Sam than just to have the conversation. 

“Dean,” Sam says, turning on his hyper sympathetic eyes on him, “if you don't want me to know –” 

“It's not that,” Dean says, “You're my best friend, Sam, I just... Cas calls it a vulnerability issue. I'd rather you keep on thinking I've got everything under control, like I wanted you to think when we were kids. But he's right. It's fucking up our friendship. You're pissed off and trying too hard and I'm acting like an unappreciative dick. I don't wanna be those brothers that just happen to be related. We’ve been through too much for that.” 

“Me neither, Dean,” Sam says, then there’s just this long period of silence which is suddenly Dean’s responsibility to fill up with something. Theoretically, some of the stuff that he’s been purposefully keeping off Sam’s radar for however long just because, because… because he needs Sam to respect him and look up to him as an integral part of his self-worth. It’s probably why Sam’s teen rebellion had such a crippling effect on his self-esteem in the first place, and it’s almost definitely not healthy and will probably become the subject of a good few CBT sessions with Chuck but… he got himself out of the co-dependency thing, but that doesn’t mean for a hot second that he isn’t depending on Sam for all sorts of other things. 

Dean’s mouth feels impossibly dry. Sam is still looking at him and, what the hell, Sam said he sounded off on the phone. He knows about the meds. He saw Dean yesterday when he clearly wasn’t _right_. Sam’s the kind of feeling-your-feelings hippy new age man that probably knows bucket loads about mental health anyway, as opposed to Dean, who only knows _anything_ about it because of Cas. Benny already knew and Sam knows him a hell of a lot better than Benny. 

“So I'm guessing you figured it was my psychiatrist you met at the docs yesterday,” Dean says, even though it feels unnatural and like he’s cutting his chest in two for Sam to peer into. Sam looks sheepish. “Come on, Sam, I know you’re smart. Not exactly doing a good job at hiding it. Figured I could at least manage one goddamn day before…” Dean trails off, gut aching, because this isn’t how he wanted it to go down either. He figured, given he was okay today, he could at least talk about it without all these damn _emotions_ getting in the way. It’s not just feeling miserable and empty, either, it’s the frustration and the irritability and the constant feeling like he’s failing everyone just by existing. 

“Dean, there’s no _shame_ in being…” 

“Depressed?” Dean suggests, lump in his throat. “FYI, that word is banned.” 

“Okay,” Sam agrees because, obviously, his brother cares about him. 

“And, that’s all good in theory. In practice, I had a fucking breakdown in therapy and had to call Cas to bail me out.” 

“Dean,” 

“Hear me out, Sam, cause I’m not talking about this again,” Dean says, “You and Cas framing it like it’s something I shouldn’t feel bad about isn’t going to make me feel any different, but that’s fine. Pretty sure it’s part of the package. Cas called me out on it ‘cause it was worse than normal and apparently he’s wanted to talk about it forever. You and Benny noticed something was up, too, I got forced into some introspection and now I’m trying to deal. Therapy and pills, both of which are doing sweet FA, but apparently I gotta be patient,” Dean takes a breath, pauses, and looks up at him again. “Told Cas I don’t want him too involved in it and the same goes for you. Those are my boundaries,”

“Okay,” Sam says, nodding a little too enthusiastically, “Okay Dean.”

“And if you tell me you’re proud of me I swear to God I will punch you in the face. But, now you know.” 

“Thank you,” Sam says, all wide doe eyes and, fucking hell, that’s worse than _I’m proud of you_. That was probably more painful than coming out to Sam is bisexual, which is ridiculous but… fuck, at least its done. 

“Dude, if you could be a little less into this sharing-as-caring lark, that would be ace,” Dean says, “We’re at the tip of the iceberg right now and I have no idea where to go next.” 

“Can we talk about you and Cas?” Sam asks, which is the exact opposite of what Dean was expecting to come out of Sam’s mouth; he was expecting more pushing at the depression stuff, but he certainly wasn’t expecting Sam to ask about _Cas_. Dean’s lost count of how many years they’ve used up their annual holiday on going to California to visit Sam. They’ve spent, like, at least ten Christmases together. Sam knows Cas. Sam seen their relationship plenty. 

“What the hell is there to say?” 

“I just... Dean, we spent years thinking you were dating the guy and just being cagey about it till we find out that you weren't, a couple of months before you actually are.” 

“I'm not _cagey_ about me and Cas,” 

“You kind of are, Dean”. Sam says, complete with mild bitch face. “You'll say you're arguing, or whatever, but you never say about what. I just... I get what you're saying about Amelia," Sam says, which is a minor miracle, because Dean pretty much figured that would never be bought up again. "But you can't ask me to aspire to have a relationship like you have with Cas if you barely allow me to see it." 

"I'm not _asking_ you to recreate our meet cute, Sam, I'm just saying you gotta ask for a little more than comfortable." 

"Humour me," 

"Why?" 

"Because you stopped telling me everything when you really got together with Cas, which is natural and preferable, frankly, but it's grown into _this_. Dean, I've been pushing this wedding stuff at you without realising that..." 

"That I'm taking pills for my monopoly on feeling sorry for myself and low self-esteem?" 

"I shouldn't have said that," Sam says, "Dean, even before I put it together I should have known. I know you. I've always known you." 

"Don't beat yourself up about not Google diagnosing me, Sammy, you're too close to this. You're fine." 

"It's not fine," 

"What do you want to know about me and Cas?” Dean asks, taking another sip of his beer, because he’s going to need it. Cas is a much easier topic than his fucked up head, anyway. Way easier, but he's still not a fan of all this talking. 

“You never said why you’re getting married.” 

“Dog with a bone,” Dean rolls his eyes, “You sure you don’t want to order take out first?” 

“Dean,” Sam says, “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“I only didn’t tell you cause we were waiting for some good news, but…okay, Sammy, it’s… We’re looking to adopt. Well, not looking, actually, but really fucking trying to adopt. There’s a lot of hoops. Apparently this is one of ‘em.” 

“Dean,” 

“Sam, don’t,” Dean says, because his brother is blinking like he’s about to cry, and is already up and out of chair and advancing on him. “Because it’s not gonna happen, okay? We’ve _tried_ but…” Dean’s stupid voice cracks, and Sam’s already pulled him into a hug, “But they just keep looking for reasons to reject us and…” 

“Dean that is _so_ brilliant,” 

“You hearing me, Sam? It’s not happening.” 

“Dean,” 

“Three _years_ ,” Dean says, clinging onto his stupid little brother, because _goddamnit_ this stuff has been killing him for such a long time, and he probably should have talked about it with Sam an age ago… but it hurt. It was difficult. He doesn’t want Sam to feel guilty when he eventually gets his own happily ever after, whilst Dean and Cas keeping rocking it as a two man show because that's just how the world works. “Three years, Sammy, and it’s just not happening. We’re giving up at the end of the year cause it’s… its so _shitty_.” 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam says, still holding him hostage in this stupid hug, squeezing his arm tight. 

“Same,” Dean says, “We’re already up to our asses in wedding over here and now there’s no frigging point.” 

It's a poor attempt at humour that Sam sees straight through. Obviously. 

“You still get to marry Cas,” 

“Yeah,” Dean swallows, although it’s unduly difficult because of all the bullshit emotions he’s near enough choking on right now. “I do get that.” 

He steps away from the hug because it’s already gone on _way_ too long and cause it needs to end at some point, even if he’d honestly rather drag it out a little further. This is a lot of stuff to be throwing at his brother in one evening and, well, Sam barely reacted to the mental health stuff… and now his brother is both beaming and sharing in a little of their disappointment. 

“I didn’t even know you wanted kids,” 

“Why? You think I’ll be bad at it,” 

“No, Dean, it might actually be your calling,” Sam says, still smiling, “You practically _raised_ me. You’re wonderful with kids. You and Cas would be _awesome_ parents.” 

“He’d be so fucking great,” Dean mutters, blinking rapidly. He really, really does not want to cry in front of Sam. It’s bad enough that he’s cried on Cas multiple times since this shit storm begun, he’s not sure his vulnerability issues can take any more tears. “That’s why the dumbass has been volunteering at scouts.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “What a dork,” 

“You guys have gotten even more disgustingly in love,” 

“I know,” Dean grins, “Can’t help it, Sammy, he’s awesome.” 

"When did you know?" Sam asks, grabbing himself a beer. 

“That Cas was awesome?” Dean frowns. 

“No, that Cas is _it_ for you.” 

"Oh, fucking hell, Sam, don't turn this into a Disney fest. You know I'm too sober to take that." Dean says, which gets Sam just bitch facing at him for a few moments before Dean exhales and decides to keep talking. "We had this dumb conversation in the kitchen of our college apartment where I asked him what he was doing after we graduated, and Cas pretty much said he'd follow me following you to Palo Alto if that's where I was going," Dean says, "Weren't even together, at that point. That's when I knew I wanted to him to be. Maybe even further back, actually. End of junior year I knew I wanted the guy for life, just didn't know how that would look like. Course, didn't get it through my head that we actually _might_ for a while longer. First talked about marriage and the white picket fence at graduation. Talked about it in less abstract terms in the six months or so before we got engaged. I dunno. Talked about adoption back at graduation, too, then shelved that conversation till eight nine months after Dad died. Probably would have come up right when we got engaged, but... yeah." 

“You’ve been talking about it for that long?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “That’s why this blows,” 

“It’ll work out, Dean,” 

“I know you’re trying to help, Sam, but I really don’t think it will.” 

“You guys deserve it,” 

“We done feeling our feelings yet?” Dean asks, because he doesn't know how to address that. “Can we at least get some damn food?” 

“Pizza?” 

“I’m easy,” Dean says, and then pauses because, well, if Dean’s bleeding his damn heart all over the floor than maybe he can get a little honesty from Sam. “You want kids, Sam?” 

“I’ve never really thought about it,” 

“Really?” Dean asks, staring at him, “Well, what have you thought about, Sam?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The future. The big old American dream. What’s your version?” Dean asks, which just has Sam staring at him for another few moments. “What do you _want_ , Sam?” 

“I wanted to be a lawyer,” 

“Well congratulations, Sammy, you got the role,” Dean says, “What’s next?” 

“I’m not sure I’ve decided yet,” 

“You’re twenty seven, dude. You thinking you might decide soon?” Sam sends him a look which is instantly irritating. “I know, Sam, me and Cas are the weirdos who met in the first week of college. I get it. That’s not you. You were too busy being independent to have a serious relationship. Fine. Is it necessary to look down on my life choices at the same time?” 

“Not _choosing_ your life choices isn’t the same as looking down on them, Dean. There’s nothing wrong with being independent.” 

“Sounds like code for lonely to me.” 

“You’re the one looking down on _my_ life choices,,” 

“Yeah, Sam, cause you’re hundreds of miles away from your whole damn family, going it alone, and you’re not even trying to _build_ some kind of stability. Your whole frigging life I’ve had you nagging me about ‘being normal’ whilst Dad dragged us from place to place –” 

“ – and I spent so much time concentrating on proving to him that I could be normal that I missed out a lot of stuff. I know, Dean, and that _bothers_ you because you have some dumb sacrificial idea that I deserve to be happy more than you, but you judging all my relationships before you’ve even _met_ them doesn’t help.” 

“I thought you said I was right about Amelia,” 

“I said you had a point,” Sam snaps back, “I’m building something with her, Dean, something I’ve never had before.” 

“What, a dog?” Dean asks, which gets him the full, complete bitchface. “Okay, Sammy, I’ll butt out. I’ll just bitch about it to Cas instead, deal?” 

“You’re such a jerk.” 

“I get the message. You’re handling it. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re batman. Let’s order some pizza and talk about something important instead. How’s that seating plan going, Samantha?” 

Sam throws the pizza menu back at him and gets himself another beer, but he's smiling. They don’t push at any of the other boundaries for the rest of the evening. The adoption stuff is bought up a couple of times, but not in depth. Sam even disappears for half an hour to talk call Amelia (which Dean uses as an opportunity to text Cas updates about how it went) and comes back in a fairly decent mood, which Dean’s counting as the first win for Amelia. They almost get the seating plan crap done too. Almost. 

* 

He’s been in contact with Cas pretty much the whole weekend. 

It feels like, since this shit storm with Dean's mental health came up they've been engaged in an eternal string of inane text messages, which is a little off the usual status quo where they used to communicate at work a bit, but within fairly reasonable parameters. Normally, it's about pretty practical stuff about food, evening plans, traffic, or maybe whining over some bad day. Now, they text each other all sorts of random crap about their day, all the damn time. Dean sort of loves it. It's probably not practical long term, and no doubt will slip away when things are back to normal, but for now it means that despite their so called separation, he's been on the phone to the guy for approximately half an hour over two phone calls and received and answered about thirty texts today. So Cas ringing him again isn't especially a surprise, even if the guy’s tone of voice on the other end is. 

Cas sounds upset. 

"Hello, Dean." 

"You okay?" Dean asks, pressing his cell close to his ear and sitting up to mute the TV. He would much rather Cas be here than this ongoing contact crap, though, because then he could actually give the guy a damn hug like every single one of his atoms is longing to do right now. Cas shouldn’t be upset somewhere where Dean can’t help, even if it turns out to be over something dumb. 

"I believe I'm supposed to say I'm fine," 

"Cas, hey, what's up?" 

"I didn't expect not seeing you to be so difficult," 

"Cas," Dean sighs, closing his eyes for second. 

"I know it's illogical. I've been away for business trips longer than this, but at least then I'm busy." 

"It's not illogical," Dean says, "And who the fuck cares if it was? Feelings aint logical, dude, you just feel them and that's that. It's the thoughts that get you feeling those feelings you can work on." 

"I want to come home," 

"Then just... Cas, just come home. We don't have to prove we can do this for anyone." 

"Gabriel purchased this apartment." 

"What?" 

"To help with our adoption application. And because he said he wanted to be involved in any nieces or nephews lives, and I had to tell him that it likely wouldn't make a difference and..." Cas' voice cracks, which is the worst sound Dean's ever fucking heard, because Dean doesn't even know the address of Gabriel’s stupid apartment and _Cas is upset_ "... I think it occurred to me what we've giving up and, damnit Dean, I wanted this for you. I wanted it for myself, too, desperately, but I..." 

"I know, Cas," Dean says, chest hurting. "You know what you should do? You should pray. That helps, right?" 

"Evidently not, or we would have had more success." 

"Hey, that's a shitty attitude, Cas. You gotta keep the faith going if you're putting in requests. It's like, prayer signal right? You need at least a couple of bars to get through. One in emergencies." 

"That's an interesting theological take." 

"Call me father Winchester," Dean says, "I'm just saying, man, we've got four months. We're not down and out yet." 

"I can't," Cas admits, voice impossibly quiet and, damnit, Dean needs to be there right now. Cas fucking needs him and he could be _anywhere_ in goddamn Lawrence. Sam’s next door and Cas has probably got Gabriel eavesdropping from somewhere, but that’s not important when Cas is audibly upset. 

"Can't what?" 

"Pray about it. It's too difficult." 

"All right, we'll do it together."

"Dean,"

"How do you usually start?"

"You don't have to do this," Cas says, voice choked up and, fuck. This isn’t helping anyone. No one is any happier because they’re not spending the week before their wedding in the same apartment. 

"Who am I addressing here?"

"Father,"

"I have waaay too many daddy issues for that,"

"God is sufficient."

"That's a better attitude. Practically biblical."

"You're ridiculous," Cas says, but there’s a hint of a smile there that time. He still sounds about as broken as he did when he tried to break up with Dean after the whole cheating-saga, but there’s a smidgen of good humour sinking in. Dean isn’t totally fucking this conversation up.

"So, God,” Dean says, clearing his throat. He feels extra stupid doing this in their front room, with Cas breathing down the other side of the phone and Sam upstairs, but… if it will help Cas. “I don’t usually do this. Not all that convinced your real, but my fiancé has a lot of faith and he’s the best person I know. I, well, I’m probably not an expert on what I do or don’t deserve, but Cas… he really deserves everything, God, but instead he just gets me. He’s okay with that. Me, I want us to have the whole nine yards. Adopt a couple of kids. Spoil them with love, you know? I don’t know, do you? I guess what I’m asking from you, God, is that you fix us up with some bad ass kids before we give up. And… that’s a wrap,”

“I think the correct term is amen,” Cas says down the other end of the phone, “Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, thank me if that prayer gets us a fast track ticket to parenthood,” Dean says, “I get anywhere close to helping there?”

“Just hearing your voice helps, Dean,”

“So I didn’t need to go all are you there god, it’s me Margret to cheer you up?” Dean asks, pressing the phone closer to his ear just in case the physical touch thing can be transmitted by signal. “Just come home, Cas,”

“How are you?”

“I… I think the pills are kicking in,” Dean says, even though he feels like he’s cursing it just saying those words out loud. “I don’t feel as heavy. Getting up this morning was okay. Managed the day with only three cups of coffee. Got a bitch of a caffeine headache, though.”

“That’s wonderful, Dean,”

“Keep your wonder on hold. I’m not sure yet,” Dean says, “I’ll keep you updated.”

“How was work?”

“Pretty much as standard,” Dean says, "Wishing you were here, obviously.”

“Five days,” Cas says, the hint of a smile gone from his voice again. The second he’s off the phone with Cas, he’s going to be demanding Gabriel’s address and harassing Sam until they let him drive over there and give the guy a fucking hug, because he’s no good this far away, and apparently Cas isn’t going to do them both a favour and just come home himself. 

“Just think of the good sex, remember?”

“I would settle for a hug,”

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “It’ll fly by. Then you’re stuck with me forever.”

“Good,” Cas says, “I’ll speak with you soon, Dean.”

Gabriel flat out refuses to give Dean the address, even when Dean threatens to seat the guy’s date on a table with Michael, Lucifer, Balthazar and Crowley (apparently, this Kali can handle conflicts fine; either that or Gabriel doesn’t care if she gets caught in the cross fire). He does tell Dean not to worry and that he’ll ‘cheer Cas up’ which is greatly worrying. He texts Cas well into the middle of the night, sleep be damned, and then he can't sleep anyway because his bed's empty and its _five days_ till he's actually getting married. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam talks are waaay more difficult than Cas talks and I dont known why. Hopefully it wasn't too bad. Also hopefully this will he wrapping up soon (maybe... two more chapters? That kind of deal).


	10. Chapter 10

He calls Cas whilst making a pot of coffee because texting him good morning seems kinda lame, and Sam's not up yet so he can do whatever the hell he wants without getting judged for it. Nothing about yesterday sat well with him. He does not like being far away from Cas ever, but particularly when the guy’s clearly not okay. Plus, Dean's chasing down his anti-depressants with toast and he knows he'll feel better about it if he has Cas on the other end of the line, because he might be feeling a little more alive but that doesn’t mean taking the damn things are any fun. 

"Hello, Dean," Cas says, voice all deep and fucking gorgeous. Dean would marry him for his voice alone, but he gets the full, complete package of all things Castiel which is awesome. More than awesome. 

"What are you wearing?" Dean asks through a mouthful of toast, because it's a golden opportunity and because he's hilarious. 

"Weariness?" Castiel suggests, "I am exhausted, Dean. Gabriel would not 'stop the fun' until well after midnight." 

"Mhmm," Dean grins, "How you doing there, Cinderella?" 

"Dean, it's even further to work from Gabriel’s apartment and Zachariah wants me in early to compensate for our forthcoming time off." 

"Tell him to remove whatever the hell it is that's stuck up his ass and knock himself out with it," 

"Dean," 

"I'm serious. I wanna punch the guy and I've only met him like twice,” Dean says, “Sleep okay?” 

“Not particularly,” Cas mutters, “Espressos exist for mornings like this.” 

"Heh," Dean says, "Gabriel got decent coffee making facilities?" 

"He has a jar of instant coffee which he masks the taste of with excessive amounts of sugar. I've been stopping for coffee before and after work." 

"You remember that crappy motel in Montana with the coffee that tasted like someone pissed in it?" Dean grins, taking another bite of toast. 

"Unfortunately," Cas says, "Did you sleep well?" 

"Nope," Dean says, “Bed’s cold. Miss you something stupid.” 

“Likewise,” Cas says, “You sound good, Dean.” 

He feels pretty decent, actually, considering Cas is some indeterminate distance away the other size of Lawrence. Considering the worst bit of this… period of depression was kick started by Cas going away for a few days, he’s doing notably better. He still doesn’t feel _great_ , but the way his thoughts are turning over in his head sort of feels _different_. Everything’s a little less sluggish. He’s got motivation to get up and live without the coffee, even if he needs it because he’s barely slept these past couple of nights. He’s not really sure when feeling better happened. Maybe kind of gradually, with it taking him a while to properly notice what with everything going on. 

“Well, you always sound good,” Dean throws back, swallowing, “Yeah, I’m feeling okay. Pretty good, actually. But what about you, man? You’ve been taking on a lot lately and I’ve been near enough out of action. You seemed pretty down yesterday.” 

“I’m fine, Dean, I’m just tired and I want to see you. I forgot quite how irritating Gabriel is. My mother still hasn’t been in contact.” Cas says, his voice that familiar, low rumble on the other end of the phone. “This _separation_ reminds me of last time and how I fucked up,” 

Dean hadn’t even coalesced those two things together, but the last time they did the long distance (well, it’s actually pretty short actual distance, but whatever) for this length of time was after Dean walked out. 

“Hey, none of that, Cas,” Dean says, “That was years ago. Nothing about our relationship is the same as it was then, okay?” Dean asks, shutting his eyes. “Just a couple more days then we’re gonna be getting hitched, then we’ve got a whole three weeks with no jobs, no Zachariah, no interfering brothers, no frigging therapy appointments; just us.” 

“Just us,” 

“And baby,” Dean adds, which gets Cas huffing a laugh down the other end of the line. “You had a decent breakfast over there?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, sounding affectionately frustrated. “I am taking care of myself, Dean.” 

“You better,” Dean says, turning round when Sam enters the kitchen looking far too awake for someone who’s up this early when he’s technically on holiday. “You sure you’re doing okay? Anything I can do?” 

“Talking to Cas?” Sam questions, heading for the coffee machine. The guy is judging him pretty hard (Dean’s pretty sure that Sam might have heard his down-the-phone-prayer yesterday, because Sam keeps glancing at him with this surprised, curious looks when he thinks Dean’s not looking), which is completely unnecessary. 

“Nope,” Dean says, just because, “Just checking in on travel arrangements with Bobby.” 

“Right,” Sam says, rolling his eyes and swiping a slice of toast of Dean’s plate, because he’s a kid brother and being annoying is practically a requirement. 

“I suppose I should get to work,” Cas says, “It was good to talk to you, Dean.” 

“Already?” Dean asks, glancing at his watch. It’s way too early for Cas to be setting off, even if it is apparently a longer drive from Gabriel’s new apartment (and, fucking hell, Dean hadn’t really reacted to the fact that Gabriel purchased an apartment properly; but it both sparks up his a great amount of affection for his future brother-in-law and fear about him being around more often). 

“I need to go, Dean. I’ll call you later.” 

“I’ve got an appointment with Chuck after work,” 

“I’ll call you after,” Cas says, “Goodbye, Dean,” 

“Wait,” 

“Yes?” 

“I, uh, love you,” Dean says, even though Sam is _right there_ , so it feels slightly uncomfortable but… whatever. Everyone knows he’s really frigging gone on Cas; he’s talked about it with Sam before but, still, it doesn’t come naturally. “See you soon. Real soon.” 

“You too, Dean.” 

“You and Bobby have got a lot more touchy-feely since I last heard you talk to him,” Sam says, after Cas’ hung up and Dean’s staring at his cell in the kitchen, trying not to feel irrationally gutted that he didn’t get a kiss good morning. Or a hug. Or even a slightly longer phone conversation, because talking to Cas makes any situation less crap. 

“Shut up, Samuel,” 

“It’s Sam,” 

“Picky, picky,” Dean throws back, pausing to send Cas a text because he’s definitely not okay and sending a text message is about as much as Dean can do from this far away. He’s aware that Sam is standing over his shoulder and can see what his doing, but Sam can go fuck himself. 

“You literally just got off the phone to him,” 

“Something’s up with the guy,” Dean frowns, “Anyway, back off. We’re getting married. I can talk to him as much as I want.” 

“What’s up?” 

“We only decided to put a time limit on the adoption stuff a couple of weeks ago. It’s getting to him,” Dean says, taking another sip of coffee. It’s cold, now, so he tips the rest of it down the sink and pours himself another cup. “Thought it was the right call but, I dunno. Maybe we should just stick it out. Bobby thought we were doing the right thing.” 

“You talked to Bobby about this?” Sam asks, voice slightly higher than normal, which generally means he's pissed off about something. 

“Wow, Sam, real mature,” Dean shakes his head, “Trying to talk to you about something serious, here, and you jump straight over to whining about how I didn’t tell you first.” 

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me in the first place,” 

“I told you we were waiting for good news,” 

“But not for Bobby,” 

“Goddamnit, Sam, you are such _kid_ sometimes,” Dean snaps, “Yes, I spoke to Bobby. I was fucking terrified, because this is _serious_ , Sam. I wanted his advice about parenting. You’re not going to understand that ‘til you’re facing down parenthood which, at this rate, is probably going to be sooner than me. So, sorry Sam, about not feeding your damn ego.” Sam doesn’t say anything; he just shifts his weight between one foot to another and looks at his coffee. “What wedding crap are you sorting out today?” Dean asks. It comes out much more aggressive than he’s intending, but it at least moves the conversation along. Letting the conversation stagnate at this point almost negates the whole talking-it-out-thing. Dean had been hoping it could put them back on the same level for a little longer than a few measly days, but they’re both stubborn head cases with too many opinions about each other’s lives. It figures. 

“Uh, giving the seating plan to the venue so they know which burgers to send where.” 

“We’re having burgers?” Dean asks, eyebrows quirking upwards. “Awesome.” 

“I put you down for beef,” 

“There are people who picked _not_ beef?” 

“Amelia is a Vegetarian,” 

“Dude,” 

“So’s Charlie’s date,” Sam says, probably a little more defensively than is needed. 

“Yeah, but that’s Charlie,” Dean says, “Sweet, I’m looking forward to these burgers.” 

“You know, Dean, I’m not actually plotting this wedding to offend you,” Sam says, his prissy voice turned back on. “Burgers, no speeches, no aisle, no flowers… exactly like you wanted.” 

“Actually,” Dean says, “Benny’s kid wants to be involved. So I told Benny she could do that thing that little girls do, with the flowers.” 

“Be a flower girl?” 

“Right, that,” Dean says, “So, if we could pick some up.” 

“You want a flower girl?” Sam questions, eyebrows raised. 

“Sam, she can’t pronounce Cs yet. She calls Cas _ass_. It’s hilarious,” Dean smiles, distractedly thumbing over his phone screen because Cas hasn’t answered his text message yet and that really bothers him. Logically, he knows it’s because the guy is on the way to work but… still. He’s worried. 

“Fine,” Sam says. It’s not, really, because Dean still has a fair amount of background irritation associated with Sam acting like a spoilt brat about Dean not telling him about the adoption plans first, and Sam’s pissed for Dean’s spoilt brat routine when it comes to the wedding, but it’s good enough. They’re usually slightly irritated at each other for one thing or other, anyway. That might just be how being siblings works. “Don’t you need to go to work too?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, putting down his cup of coffee and running a hand over his face. “You wanting the car?” 

“Yeah, I’ll drop you off.” 

“Got therapy after work, so I’m guessing I’ll need you to give me the lift or drop off the car keys,” Dean mutters, stomach twisting slightly. The fact that he feels pretty good right now makes the prospect of therapy sound even more wholly shitty, but… the further he is on the other side the more he can see that feeling like that is a big fucking problem. It’s still not over, either. He doesn’t want to keep taking these shitty pills (he’s still putting on weight and they make his dreams weirdly hyper-vivid, which aren’t the _worst_ side effects of the long, crappy list on the back of the packet, but he would still rather do without them). He’s still not up to fighting fit, either. He does feel like he could hang on like this for a long time, though, whilst the past couple of weeks he’s been on the edge of desperation permanently. It’s a fine line. “Don’t expect me to be in a good mood.” 

“Noted,” Sam says, holding up his hands as he sits down at the kitchen table and pulls out his own cell phone, hopefully to contact Amelia. Or maybe not, actually, given she’s a frigging _Vegetarian_. 

Cas doesn’t text him back till Dean’s morning break. Dean tries not to let it stress him out, but he doesn’t do a very good job of it. 

* 

The second Sam says they’re meeting Cas and Gabriel for dinner Dean starts freaking the fuck out. He frigging _knew_ Cas wasn’t okay last night or this morning, but if it’s bad enough that even Sam and Gabriel have admitted that this separation shit is inadvisable (at least for a couple of hours), it’s gotta be pretty bad. It has his thoughts catapulting into the fear zone just about instantaneously. Cas isn’t okay and Dean _let_ it happen, just because he’s newly-okay, which is a hell of a shitty way to repay the guy. 

“What’s going on, Sam?” Dean demands, hands clenched on the wheel, head spinning. 

“Gabriel said we needed to show up for dinner, Dean, that’s all I know,” 

“With Cas?” 

“Yes, with Cas,” Sam says, “I’m sure he’s fine.” 

“Really?” Dean snaps, “You’re _sure_? Because where I’m sitting, you don’t have a damn clue. You just fly out here with your frigging grand plans and you send my fucking fiancé away, even though you have _no idea_ what we’ve been dealing with lately.” Sam doesn’t point out the fact that Dean didn’t tell him about any of it, either, and just stays quiet in the passenger seat of the Impala. It’s probably for the best. “What _exactly_ did Gabriel say?” 

“Dean, we’ll be there in five minutes,” 

“I _knew_ he wasn’t okay, fuck,” Dean says, swearing as they hit a traffic light. He at least gets to use it as a chance to check his cell for the twentieth time since Sam mentioned this new change of plan. “God _damnit_. He hasn’t text me for hours.” 

“He was probably just at work, Dean. You guys spoke this morning.” 

“For like ten minutes,” Dean mutters, throwing his cell at Sam’s side of the car. “That’s it. I’m _done_ with this separation stuff. No more crappy business trips. No more lone family visits. I am _done_ ,” Dean says, as the lights turn green again. 

Sam doesn’t bother trying to placate him again until they get to the restaurant. 

“Can you try looking less homicidal, Dean?” 

“Shut up,” Dean snaps, heading for the entrance. Obviously, Cas and Gabriel aren’t there yet. They’re only here so damn early because Dean sped most of the way because _holy shit_ is there no way that this message could have been delivered without giving him a damn heart attack? He sends Cas another text message as Sam tries to work out under what name Gabriel booked a table. “Come on, Cas, answer your damn phone.” 

“He’s fine, bucko, quit stressing,” Gabriel says and, holy shit, Cas is right there and he’s _okay_. 

“Cas,” Dean exhales, then he has Cas reaching for him and _finally_ he has Cas’ familiar form pressed up against him, hands twisting around his neck, the usual Cas-scent of unnecessarily expensive organic shampoo and their shared laundry detergent. “I’ve been texting you all day, Cas. Don’t _do_ that to me.” 

“Nice to see you too, bro,” Gabriel says, “Cassie here had a bit of a breakdown.” 

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean pulls away to _look_ at him properly. His voice is slightly shaky, but he looks more or less okay. Dean pulls him back into the damn hug, heart still racing double time, even if the adrenaline is wearing off now he’s got him right here in front of him. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” 

“Hey there, fellas, you celebrating anything special today?” The waitress says, arriving and pulling him out of his _moment_ because, oh yeah, they’re in a goddamn restaurant and Cas is clinging to him like he’s on the cusp of falling apart. 

“You bet we are,” Gabriel says, “These two lovebirds are getting married this weekend, and macho-man over here’s finally going to therapy.” 

“You have an overshare problem,” Dean says, rolling his eyes as Cas finally lets go but settles under his arm anyway. “But good to see you, Gabe,” 

“ _I_ have an overshare problem. You wanna know what my bro told me about you last night?” 

“Please, no,” Sam pipes up. 

“It’s a family trait,” Dean says, hand still settled on Cas’ waist as the waitress leads them over to their table. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, here? What do you mean by _breakdown_?” 

“I… there was an incident at work,” Cas says, as they sit down. It’s a booth. Castiel is still essentially attached to him, making it more or less impossible for Dean to untangle the arm from round him. Not that Dean has any kind of problem with the casual physical touches that he’s been itching for during this stupid, illogical period of separation. The easy way that Cas dips into his side makes him feel more solid, even if it makes looking through the menu more difficult. 

“An incident?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“This is my favourite story,” Gabriel says, “It gives me tingles. Tell it again, Cassie.” 

“I had a disagreement with Zachariah at work,” Cas says, voice determinedly level. Dean runs his fingers over Cas’ shoulder blades and smiles at him. It’s probably the wrong context to be smiling, but it’s hard not to. Cas is lovely. 

“He called him an assbutt!” 

“All the words in that brain of yours and you picked _assbutt_?” Dean asks, his smile widening. 

“He's not telling it right,” Gabriel says, “He yelled at him that he was an assbutt, told him he was a superior, power mad dick who was clearly compensating for something, and that he wasn't prepared to stand for his sanctimonious bullshit any longer. I'm guessing the last few lines are your influence, Deano.” 

Dean blinks for a few seconds because… he doesn’t know _what_ he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t Cas actually, properly yelling at Zachariah like Dean’s secretly wanted him to since the first time the guy kept him at work till after seven on date night. 

“I was stressed,” Cas frowns, “I didn’t intend to lose my temper.” 

“From the beginning?” Dean asks, moving the hand from his shoulder so he can shift in his seat and actually look at the guy properly, instead settling with a hand on his knee instead. He can’t quite bring himself to break physical contract completely, but he needs a better angle to look at him. 

"I missed you," Cas says, "Zachariah asked me to stay late despite me finishing everything last Wednesday,” 

“Uhuh,” 

“He didn’t mean later than half five, Dean. He just _assumed_ I would be there till half six as standard. He wanted me to stay till eight.” 

"Sounds like standard Zach crap," Dean says, frowning at him. 

"Why would I agree to stay several hours late if you were already at home?" Cas asks, features drawn into a frown, staring at him like they’re the only two people in the whole restaurant. If someone had asked him when he was eighteen and had just moved to college whether he’d have thought Cas’ laser-point staring would still completely floor him when he was thirty one, he’d have said a point blank no, but it has the same power as it ever did. 

"I've been asking you this," 

"Precisely, Dean, you've been asking me for years and I've been blindly continuing to ignore it. I missed you, but due to this illogical, pointless separation crusade I am being _prevented_ from seeing you.” 

“Yep,” 

“But it’s even more illogical to allow Zachariah to do the same thing, all the time.” 

“Umhm,” 

“I… I may have projected my irritation at myself towards Zachariah somewhat." 

It's hard not to smile at that, even if it probably doesn't mean anything good for Cas' job. It might possibly be the most romantic thing the guy’s ever done from him, though. The best fucking gesture of all time might be Cas telling his boss to suck it, just like Dean’s been asking him to for years. 

Cas’ hand is resting on the table and it’s so damn easy to reach for it, tangle their fingers together and squeeze. 

"You got a job to go back to tomorrow?" Dean asks, "Not that I'm complaining if you don't, Zach had it coming." 

"This is my favourite bit," Gabriel adds, nudging Sam on the other side of the table. 

"He tried to promote me,” 

"What?" 

"I nearly threw a stapler at his head and he attempted to promote me." Cas says, shoulders slumping slightly. He looks pretty dejected for a guy who _finally_ told his boss where to stuff it and got promoted for his efforts, but it’s Cas; he’s probably still beating himself up over the fact that he didn’t do this years ago. 

"So you got a promotion?" 

"I told him I didn't want it. It was just an excuse to upkeep my illogical overtime." 

"Come on, Castiel, tell the story properly,” Gabriel says, leaning forward on his elbows. 

"If it means that much to you, perhaps you should take over." 

"Dude, did you get fired or not?" Dean asks, squeezing his hand again. He’s pretty sure none of them have looked at the menu yet, but then he suspects the separation crusade is going to continue after this meal is over, so he has no problem dragging it out. 

"Picture this, Castiel, after years of unreasonable work commitments and being continually screwed over by his boss, finally snaps. A stapler is nearly thrown. Insults certainly are. And then, the crescendo, the offer of promotion is rejected -" Gabriel says, complete with hand gestures. 

"- I asked him to give me a reason not to quit." Cas interjects. 

"You threatened to quit?" 

“You have no sense of drama or good story telling,” Gabriel sighs, flicking over a page of the menu with, frankly, an unnecessary amount of sass. 

"I had no intention _of_ quitting, Dean. We have four months to get the first stage of our adoption application accepted. I need this job, but Zachariah doesn’t know that. If he wanted to fire me he would have done when I started yelling... so we negotiated." 

"You negotiated?" Dean repeats because, holy shit, his fiancé and very soon to be husband is fucking _bad ass_. He can just imagine him laying down the law to Zachariah, just cause he wants some more time at home with frigging Dean. Hot damn. 

"He got a pay rise," 

"You got a pay rise?" 

"More importantly," Cas says, "I now receive as much paid holiday as you. I did try to reduce my hours to yours, but we settled on finishing half an hour later with a further increase in pay for overtime." 

"Damn," 

"We drew up another contract and then I demanded to have the rest of the day off.” 

"Holy shit, Cas." 

“Then my mother called,” 

“Ho _ly_ shit, Cas.” 

“They’re all coming to the wedding,” Cas says, lips tilted downwards, “I tried telling her they couldn’t because it was too late to order food, at which point she told me she had already spoken with our wedding venue.” 

“Wow,” Dean says, “She really is controlling, huh?” 

“I said it was unacceptable to change our order without informing us,” Cas says, “But she also paid for the food which, apparently, is non-refundable. I checked.” 

“Are you… but _we_ paid the last instalment for all that crap like, a month ago.” 

“They sent the money back because the thought we’d accidentally paid twice,” Cas says, “We didn’t notice because it’s the saving account we never use and because we’ve been distracted.” 

“So she paid _more_ than a month ago?” Dean says, “But that’s… that’s kind of good, right?” 

“In theory, yes,” Cas says, “In practice, it means Michael, Lucifer and my mother are almost definitely going to ruin our wedding, and that she purposefully waited until the week before to tell us she was coming.” 

“Cas, you just gotta remember that this isn’t about them. The fact that they’re selfish dickbags doesn’t mean we should let them ruin Sam and Gabriel’s big day.” 

“Funny, Dean,” Sam butts in, rolling his eyes with unnecessary gusto. Dean’s not really concentrating on that, though, because Sam’s mild irritation isn’t nearly as important of the fact that Cas is having a mini-breakdown. Even if the consequences of that mini-breakdown has affection rolling around in his gut because, damn, Cas finally listened to him about something Dean had been barely aware he was saying; he knew he was asking Cas to _have better work life boundaries_ but he hadn’t caught onto the fact that what he was really asking was for Cas to _put him first_. Cas caught on before he did. Cas frigging renegotiated his whole work contract because he missed him. 

(He probably should thank Sam for the separation thing at some point. Maybe.) 

“I thought so,” Dean says, turning one of his smiles on Sam. 

“You seem more _yourself_.” Cas says, tightening his grip on Dean’s hand on top of the table. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Feeling like I could be back to enjoying the finer things in life. The honour of mini bars in cheap motels, oral sex, bacon.” 

“I _hope_ you haven’t been enjoying oral sex without me,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Nah, I’m not as flexible as you. I need assistance,” Dean throws back, purely for the grimace he gets from Sam’s end of the table. 

“Are we going to order?” Sam bitchfaces. 

“Lighten up, Sammy boy,” Gabriel says, throwing a napkin at his face, because he’s Gabriel. Cas winces slightly but Dean thinks it’s actually pretty funny, all things considered, and at least he has his brother turning his disapproving expression on Gabriel instead of Dean. They’re pretty used to each other, since Gabriel migrated away from the Novak side of the family and towards the Winchesters, but Sam never fails to find him both bemusing and irritating. Dean sympathises, sure, but it’s funnier to watch than it is to experience on a regular basis. “I’m thinking the waffle burger.” 

“Dude, even I wouldn’t eat a _waffle burger_ ,” Dean throws back, flipping their joint hands over to make room for the menu. “Blue cheese and bacon burger. Done.” 

“You haven’t read the rest of the menu,” Cas says, voice a little more solid. 

“You think you’re gonna persuade me otherwise, hotstuff?” 

Sam rolls his eyes with more vigour than he probably needs to. 

At the end of the meal, Dean insists that Cas comes home with him. No one argues with any real enthusiasm. 

* 

Cas looks good. Sam must have goaded him into a haircut, because it's the length that it's probably supposed to be. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days, looks like. He's ironed a couple of creases into his shirt. His stupid tie is slightly lopsided and too loose. They've both aged a lot since they started out and Cas definitely looks better for it. He's grown into himself. Mostly, it's the fact that every single one of Cas' minute gestures and mannerisms make Dean's heart swell up like a damn loony tunes character; all his fixed glares and his ticks, his soulful staring and that particular way he wears confusion when he takes things too literally. 

The second they're in the kitchen Cas migrates into Dean's personal space, leans in till their chest to chest and settles there. Dean can read the guy's insecurity in the curve of his damn spine at his point; the way his self-doubt over being kinda needy has transferred into the tension in his shoulders; the fact that right now, Cas needs Dean's hands resting on the small of his back, Dean pressing a kiss to his forehead, letting Cas draw this out for however long the guy needs. 

"Gabriel bought a nice apartment," Cas says, his voice and tone serious and intimate and totally mismatching with the conversation he settled on. Cas can make a conversation about the weather intimate though, so it's barely a surprise. 

"Yeah?" Dean breathes. 

"His kitchen is very sophisticated." 

"That a dig?" Dean smiles, running his hands over the guys back, hips, waist. 

"I would like to do up the kitchen," 

"You barely use it," 

"Exactly," Cas says, swaying closer, so that Dean's essentially holding them both up. "It frustrates you. You liked the kitchen in our old house." 

"It's fine," 

"I want you to have a nice kitchen," Cas frowns, because of course he does. Cas is deeply thoughtful about things like that, that Dean would barely notice, to the point that it really bothers him that they did up the room that's more ostentatiously Cas' space rather than Dean's first. Cas slots their lips together, gentle and simply, then he's pulling back just to drop a kiss on Dean's lower lip, then the corner of his mouth. 

"Can't believe you told your boss where to stuff it," Dean grins, which wins him a small smile. “Tell me your office has CCTV. That sounds like the kind of creepy move Zachariah would pull.” 

"Dean," Sam says, hovering in the doorway looking slightly sheepish for interrupting their moment. He's been told their intensity make people uncomfortable before, particularly by Charlie. "I'm headed to bed. Night." 

"Night, Sammy," Dean says. 

"Goodnight, Sam." 

"You too, Cas." 

"We should hit the hay too," Dean says, drawing back even though he's reluctant too. "Sleep is important and all that crap." 

That and he's missed Cas at night to levels even higher than expected. They've never been the best at hospitable bed sharing; Cas gets insomnia, Dean gets too hot, both of them hog the cover. Still, it's such a damn relief when Cas agrees and, fifteen minutes later Dean's in bed with Cas spooned up against him. It hasn't been that long. They're being dumb, but he can't help it. 

Cas hums slightly and Dean can feel the vibration of it because they're so close. 

"What are you thinking about?" 

"I thought that question was only acceptable after sex," Cas returns. 

"Shut up," 

"My mother," 

"And?" 

"And I have come to the conclusion that I would rather think about you," 

"I'm right here, Cas, you don't need to think about me," 

"Exactly," Cas says. "I don't understand why I've been allowing unimportant things distract me from you." 

"Cas," 

"It's what I did nine years ago," 

"Fucking hell, dude, it's what most people do several times a week. And you can prioritise me before the bills all you want, they've still gotta get paid. Don't beat yourself up over it. Don't be insecure in our relationship, man, I know you, we've been through some shit, I'm pretty sure I've had my lips on every damn inch of your skin. We’re solid.” 

“You must have missed somewhere,” 

“Well, I haven't got a damn log,” Dean 

“What about the back of my knees?” 

“Are you fucking serious?” Dean asks, which wins him a smile that he can only just see in the dark. Dean turns so he can kiss the guy. “Alright,” Dean grins, “As you command.” 

“I wasn’t serious,” 

“Tough luck, sunshine,” Dean says, nosing his way down Cas’ chest. 

“For this record, this is you, Dean. Full of life. Funny. Fun.” Cas says, “Your depression is not part of your identity.” Dean freezes which, apparently, isn’t the right thing to do, as it has Cas exhaling and reaching for him. He feels a little his whole functioning just hit a massive fucking roadblock. “Dean.” 

“How can you say that?” Dean asks, slumping next to Cas and staring at the ceiling of their bedroom. “We just established that I’m depressed. You don’t treat me like I’m _sick_. You just treat me like I’m me. So how does _that_ figure?” 

“You _choose_ what is and is not part of your identity.” 

“This one of your weirdo philosophies?” 

“Dean,” Cas says, turning on his side to smile at him, “the fact that you’re biologically male is a fact about you. The fact that being male is important to you makes it part of your identity.” 

“I’m way too tired for this,” Dean mutters into Cas’ shoulder. 

“I have brothers,” Cas says, “But I don’t consider _being_ a brother as part of my identity in the way you do.” 

“Holy fuck I’ve missed you talking at me.” 

“The fact that you suffer from depression is a fact about you,” Cas says, “It doesn’t mean it’s part of who you are.” 

“I dunno, man,” Dean says, eyes shut, “I get what you’re saying, just not sure if I buy it. Whatever. This stuff is going to take a while, I guess.” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees. 

“And, just for the formal record, you’re never sleeping somewhere that isn’t right fucking here again.” 

“I’m going back to Gabriel’s tomorrow,” Cas says, which has Dean groaning at the ceiling. “Your family arrive tomorrow, Dean. Thursday night is…” 

“Stag central. Heh.” 

“The wedding is on Saturday.” 

“Three days,” 

“That’s my job,” Cas counters, “At this point staying at Gabriel’s becomes logical.” 

“Fuck logic,” Dean complains, pulling Cas close to him again. “We should sleep,” 

“I thought we were fucking logic?” 

“Smart ass,” Dean grins, “how lame is that I just wanna stay up and talk?” 

“You also asked me what I was thinking about,” 

“Oh, fuck you,” 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas says, leaning close to kiss him. The guy tastes like toothpaste and fucking home and Dean can’t really express how relived he is that Cas is _here_ and not currently freaking the fuck out. That he doesn’t have that shitty, dark feeling pulling at the corner of his thoughts. That he feels _okay_ right now, even if it’s taken some shitty pills that only half work, and even though it’s landed in him in crappy therapy to get there. Tomorrow, the rest of his family are flying in from various places across the country. That in a few days they’re actually getting married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neaarrrrlly there


	11. Chapter 11

He gets mobbed by Jo at the airport. It's been over a year (thanksgiving last year at Bobby and Ellen’s actually), so it shouldn't be a surprise, but he's still completely startled by her throwing her arms around his neck before he’s really had a chance to _recognise_ her. He gets thirty seconds of that before she lets go and punches his arm, face-splitting grin plastered across her face. Damn, but he’s missed his pseudo-sister and the rest of the motley crew of weirdos he picked up and called family.

"You're getting married!" Jo beams, all blonde and cute, not that Dean would _ever_ say that to her face. She’d skin him alive. He’s just so used to hearing her fierce voice on the other end of the phone, that he sort of forgot that came wrapped up in a petite blonde packaging. Jo’s awesome. 

"Really? Man, someone could have told me." 

"I've heard your separation’s been about as successful as you'd expect," Ellen says, taking her turn at hugging him and lifting a stern eyebrow in his direction. They’ve seen Bobby and Ellen more recently, but it’s still been a good four months since they’ve made the trip to Sioux Falls. There’s a high chance that this wedding crap is going to be worth it just for a pre-Christmas reunion. 

"Sam," Jo grins, pulling the same move on his little brother. 

"Damn fool idea," Bobby mutters, then he gets a one armed hug from Bobby, too. 

"Finally, someone on my side," Dean grins. 

"You idjits are too damn wrapped up in each other to last ten minutes, let alone a week." 

"It was longer than a week," Dean says, which wins him a laugh from Jo and Bobby shaking his head at him but, whatever, it’s so damn good to be back together. It’d be better if he has Cas here, too, but they’ll get that in a few days’ time. 

"It wasn't," Sam points out. 

"It was supposed to be," Dean says, waving this away. "How many damn bags have you got?" 

"It's mom's mother of the bride hat," Jo grins, hugging him again. 

"Fuck you," 

"Watch your tongue with me, boy," Ellen says, sharp. "Let's get to this new house of yours, then." It's damn hilarious to see Bobby, Sam and Jo squashed onto the impala's back seat, because Ellen demanded the front seat to bust his balls about not answering his cell and no one else had the guts to argue (except Jo, but she lost the argument, as she invariable does when it comes to butting heads with her Mom). Dean’s in too much of a good mood for it to be really getting to him, even if it’s a too-potent reminder of the depression crap. 

"Come on, Ellen, we've been busy," 

"Don't think your fiancé aint getting an earful when I see him, too." 

"I'll warn him," Dean assures her. Cas will probably be terrified. The thought makes his chest feel tight with warmth because, hey, Cas gets another family out of this too. By all technicalities, Ellen isn’t related to Dean, so she’s as much family now as she will be after the wedding, but it still feels significant. Now he’s looking it straight in the face, it’s beginning to feel important. 

"And you never sent me pictures of your new house."

"Well, hey, you never visited."

"You didn't invite me, boy."

"I ain't got an invite to yours and Bobby’s wedding yet, so I reckon we're even,” Dean grins, catching Bobby’s eye in the review view mirror (he’s squashed into the middle seat, too, because apparently he lost this battle twice), which gets him the best damn irritated look Dean’s seen in weeks.

Bobby changes the topic of conversation to Sam before Ellen can even respond to that.

*

Cas calls after he's finished the tour for Ellen, Jo and Bobby, by which point Ellen's taken over the kitchen to aggressively cook everyone dinner, because that's how Ellen shows affection. Dean’s helping Ellen whilst Jo and Bobby gossip in the next room and their house feels genuinely _full_ for the first time in forever. It just feels kind of empty for the two of them, sometimes, so… it’s good. It feels that little bit more like _home_ now that he’s got the rest of his family here; their old place had felt like that and neither of them really loved this house, but… needs must. 

"Hello, Dean,"

"Hey Baby," Dean grins, stealing one of Ellen's sweet potato chips because he can, even though he gets a table cloth thrown at him for it.

"I am not your car,”

"Spoilt sport," Dean says, taking the pan Ellen thrusts in his direction and heading for the sink with it. He’s been relegated to dish washer in his own kitchen, but the food smells so good he’s definitely okay with it.

"You don't call me baby. You call me Cas, Castiel or, if you're being patronising, sweetheart."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

"Dean,"

"Okay, okay. Good day?"

"Bearable," Cas says, "have they landed?"

"Bobby, Ellen and Jo are here, yeah. Sam's gone to pick up Charlie and her date. Ellen's cooking. She's pissed at you."

"Why?"

"Cause you didn't pin me down and make me call her," Dean says, plunging the pan into the full sink, phone wedged under his ear. 

"I'm generally distracted when I'm pining you down," 

"Hah," Dean beams, "I wouldn't tell her that,"

"Tell me what?" Ellen asks, eyes narrowing. 

"Whoops,"

"I'll let you get back to your family,"

"Yeah, okay, sugar,"

"Dean," 

"Honeybunch,"

"Dean,"

 _"Hubbie_ ,” Dean grins, and right this second he doesn’t care, remotely, that Ellen’s in the room whilst he’s being obtuse and affectionate. She knows him. She’s been the only maternal influence in his life for decades. It’s probably a bit of relief for his whole family to see him like this; happy and relaxed. 

"Two days,"

"Mmm, can't wait. Have a good day, Cas."

"I will," Cas says, in a way that Dean almost believes. Dean dries one of his hands on his jeans to put his cell back in his pocket, before registering that he’s grinning at the washing up and Ellen is watching him looking equal parts stern and affectionate. 

"You got anything you wanna tell me, kid?” Ellen asks, as Dean snaps out of it, bites back a little of his grin and returns to the dishes. 

_That’s_ a loaded question, a hundred percent, and… well, it’s not really surprising. Bobby is a damn gossip, sometimes, especially when it comes to his make-shift family, but Ellen’s the one who needs to know what’s happening with all of them. The fact that Bobby didn’t spill their adoption plans months ago is semi-miraculous. 

"You got to Bobby, huh?" Dean asks, as Ellen passes him another pan to wash up. "We want kids."

Ellen takes the pan out of his hand to give him a hug.

Dean reckons Mary Winchester would have reacted in much the same way, actually, except Dean would have definitely told her first. He also reckons she’d have liked Cas. It’s difficult to say, because his memories of her are all idealised and sweetened by nostalgia, and too old and faded for Dean to really be _sure_ , but he doesn’t know why anyone wouldn’t like Cas. Cas is awesome. Cas takes care of him, passionately wants to do up the kitchen because he think it’ll make Dean slightly happier, watches over Dean’s relationship with Sam when Dean’s too fried to do it himself. Every parent should want that for their kids. So, yeah, he’s pretty sure that Mary would have fucking loved all of this, but he _knows_ , a hundred percent, that Ellen does. That’s enough.

"You better get 'em, boy." Ellen says, whilst he’s still wrapped up in a hug. She looks pretty reluctant about releasing him, too, but the food needs attention and none of them are great at being openly affectionate for extended periods of time. They probably all have vulnerability issues. 

Dean doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that they’re probably going to give up on that dream when that atmosphere is so damn _happy_. It’s too special to shove anything bad into right now and he doesn’t want to. He’s felt like crap for weeks and weeks. Maybe he deserves a little denial. 

"How long have you known?"

"You mean to tell me this ain't something you shared with Bobby last week?"

"Uh," Dean says, "I'm thinking the right answer is no?"

"Damn fool," Ellen says, rolling her eyes. 

Five minutes later she chases him out of the kitchen and forces him to babysit Bobby, which is absolutely okay by Dean. Jo demands gossip about Amelia that Dean’s more than happy to provide, even if it probably makes a hypocrite about pretty much everything.

*

Charlie’s smile is even wider than _Jo’s_ when she spills through his front door, wearing a t-shirt Dean’s pretty sure she’s owned since college but with a whole new haircut.

“Casa de Destiel!” Charlie declares, then he gets a tight hug, before she’s practically fucking bouncing over to introduce herself to Ellen and Jo, who are the only ones she hasn’t actually met yet. Her date – who Dean knows nothing about, whatsoever, which is partially because he and Charlie only do rare catch ups these days, but mostly because Dean’s been virtually out of action with most of his friendships for months – is stood looking vaguely awkward near the door. “Dude, your house is _sweet_. Holy crap. It’s Jo, right? Tell me we’re best friends now.”

“Uh, Charlie,” Dean says, nodding towards her date and raising an eyebrow. 

“ _Right_. Introductions. Everyone, Lily. Lily, this is Dean who owes me like, sixteen phone calls, BTW.”

“Yeah, things have been kind of…” Dean trails off, throat tightening. Crap, he wishes Cas were here, because Cas would know how to explain this crap without making Dean sound broken or fucked up or _ill_ because… he doesn’t want that. Even if it’s some of true.

“Okkaay, later,” Charlie says, then he gets another hug, and he winds up getting everyone a beer (except Sam, because he’s the designated taxi service for the evening). Then Benny shows up, too, and it’s a proper frigging reunion. Benny takes over the taxi duties because he can’t drink, anyway, which means Dean gets to drink to _being all back together_ even though there’s a slightly numb edge to everything after thinking about the various ways he’s been letting everyone down lately. Sam’s organised his whole wedding. He hasn’t been answering the phone to Ellen. He’s been dumping his woes in Bobby. Benny’s been putting up with is whining. He doesn’t know a damn thing about Charlie’s girlfriend, or even if they’re at that official-girlfriend point.

Dean’s so fucking grateful that he only .has _one_ day of work before their holiday.

*

His exhaustion feels a little like a hangover when he wakes up on Thursday, which is bad news considering it’s supposed to be their damn stag dos that evening. They’re only having them because Gabriel insisted, Dean’s pretty sure. Cas has this aversion to the whole concept and what they represent, if only it’s because his views about things like strippers have become a lot more hard line the older they’ve got (‘you cannot _buy_ consent of any kind, Dean’) and because he lumps them together in his head as an excuse to justify acting like a dick. Dean just thinks the whole thing is pointless and a little embarrassing. Nevertheless, they’re happening, and Cas’ is probably going to be a lot less bearable than Dean’s, given Sam conceded to food and poker. 

First, he has to get through his last full day at work. He damn nearly has a heart attack when he’s taking his anti-depressants then turns round to find _Jo_ blearily walking into the kitchen. She doesn’t question it, probably because she’s sleeping on the sofa until Sunday – it’s not particularly comfortable and she's still pretty out of it. Bobby and Ellen are still hauled up in one of the spare rooms when Dean has to leave for work, but Sam appears and starts talking about crap like _photographers_ and _the vows_ before Dean can make him shut up.

Dean’s entirely sure Jo is laughing at him when Dean makes up some bullshit excuse to take his morning coffee to go and eat his breakfast in the car, even if it just means he ends up excessively early to work.

He calls Cas from the carpark. 

*

By the time Charlie meets him in his lunch break, without her date who’s apparently marathon watching TV in their hotel room, Dean’s feeling kind of _good_ again. It’s _good_ to have everyone in Lawrence, for once. It’s good that Cas has been texting him menial shit after probably picking up that Dean was stressed when he called him earlier. It’s good that they’re going to get married and that the whole of Cas’ family are actually going to be there. It’s all frigging _awesome_ , even if his heads kind of messed up and he doesn’t really want to tell Charlie he’s popping pills to keep him getting out of bed. 

He does. It’s not as awful as he’s expecting. 

* 

Dean’s pretty sure his younger self, the one who’d actually want a stag do, probably would have envisioned something a little more wild. Still, he's thirty one, he's basically been with Cas for a decade and most of his friends are ipso facto his adopted family. Bobby, Ellen and Jo are only here for a limit period of time, Benny’s dry and, besides, Dean hasn’t got the healthiest relationship with alcohol and he’s got enough problems at it is. Food and poker was an awesome plan.

He's not expecting to get back from food and find Cas' car in the driveway, though, because _he's_ supposed to be doing his stag thing tonight too -- and probably in a big way, too, because Gabriel is involved. And Balthazar. But, no, Cas' car is right there, the front doors’ unlocked and Cas is waiting for him in the kitchen, Gabriel sat at the table. He doesn't get to appreciate the rush of actually seeing the guy - the way it has his pulse skyrocketing whilst his veins flood with pure relief - because he's skipping straight over to panic. Cas is pale, shaken and definitely shouldn't be here, even with the dumb separation parade aside. He said this was one of the few nights that not seeing each other was a good set up and, reluctantly, Dean agreed with that assessment. Cas _shouldn’t_ be here.

“Cas, what's going on?” Dean asks. For a second, that look from Sam has him thinking that this is finally it; that Cas realised what a mess he is, redid the maths and decided he doesn't want him. That he's here to tell Dean he's leaving. Then he remembers Cas clinging to him in a restaurant a few days ago and realises that’s fucking stupid. It’s probably just some family drama that has Cas looking like he’s seen a damn ghost, but either way having frigging _everyone_ behind him the doorway doesn’t help. For whatever reason, Cas needs him right now.

“Um, we’ll just…” Sam says, gesturing towards the front room.

“Hey, Sammy,” Gabriel says, standing up, “These lovebirds couldn’t even manage a whole day, am I right?”

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Cas says, rolling his eyes, so maybe he’s _okay_. “Can you give us a moment to talk, please?”

“Sure thing, Cas,” Charlie says, falsely bright, then she starts the party of people heading into their front room. Dean’s still a little frozen, but he comes unstuck right about the time that Bobby trudges passed the door towards their front room. 

“Cas,” Dean exhales.

“You look worried,”

“Dude, you just turned up in our kitchen on the night of your stag do, looking like you’ve seen a frigging ghost. I’m crapping myself over here.”

“Ah,” Cas says, migrating forward, but he’s kind of awkward, like he’s just been so completely thrown he’s forgotten how to just reach out _and touch Dean_ like they normally would. “Apologies. You didn’t answer the phone.”

Dean takes matters into his own hands and rests his hands on Cas’ hips, pulling him forward.

“You didn’t call,”

“The house phone,”

“We were out,” Dean says, “Cas, will you just tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“It’s good news,” Cas says, still shaky and pale and not smiling.

“You don’t _look_ like it’s good news,” Dean says, all the tension that he’s been resolutely ignoring all day flaring up in a big way. He doesn’t particularly want to throw around words like anxiety, but he’s definitely fucking anxious right this second. He needs Cas to _talk_ and talk fast.

“The woman who was in charge of our application was fired. They’re fully reviewing all the applications she handled in the past year and, upon looking at ours, they’ve decided we were rejected unfairly.”

The words come out too quickly for Cas’ usual steadiness, so that Dean has to think them through a few times over before he can fit any kind of context to it. 

“What are you saying?”

“We’re on the list,” Cas says. His voice is weaker than usual. Almost thin. 

“The… the adoption list. Are you, Cas,” Dean stops, reaches forward to grab his face and kiss him, because he just needs to, before staring at him some more. He can’t process the words that are coming out of Cas’ mouth. It’s too much of a juxtaposition with his panic and Cas so _pale_ and shocked. “Are you … are kidding me right now?”

“It wouldn’t be particularly funny if I was,”

“We’re… we’re _on this list_.”

“Yes, Dean,”

“We,” Dean begins, then stops because _holy shit_

“Yes,” Cas says, then the smile starts to break out. “She also passed on congratulations for our wedding.”

Cas waits out his silence for some indeterminate period of time that could be seconds or minutes, because Dean’s just trying to process.

“Dude, we might be someone’s parents,” Dean blinks. He can’t even frigging _breathe_ because his lungs are constricting, his brain isn’t working, he… he can’t really comprehend it. He’s wanted to hear this news for such a long time that it doesn’t feel real. That it’s absolutely fucking terrifying, whilst possibly being the best few sentences that anyone’s ever said to him. _They’re on the list_.

“Yes,” Cas says again, smile widening. He still shaky, grappling with his a grip on Dean’s shirt, blue eyes panicked and overwhelmed and _happy_. They don’t have to give this up. They don’t have to. They might… they might get everything they ever wanted. All of it. 

“Holy crap,”

“I had to tell you,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, reaching out for him again, pulling him into a hug and holding him _tight_. “Holy…. Cas, I can’t even… shit.”

“I know,” Cas says, then reaches forward to kiss him. Just one of those nice, safe kisses that they exchange all the damn time, but Dean latches onto it because it’s something he can do with all his fucking feelings. The relief and the joy and the excitement that bubbled up all at once, and at least Cas is a valid direction for all that to go in, because they were gonna burst out one way or another. 

It's too much emotion for the kiss, too, till its spilling outwards and Dean's leveraging Cas so that he's sat on the kitchen counter, backed up against the cupboard where they keep the mugs, his hands tangled up in Dean's hair like it's the only damn thing keeping him up. He's just...he's just so damn happy, and the logical thing to do with that is to kiss Cas stupid, scrabbling at the kitchen counter for better grip, so he can lose himself a little more. Cas has one leg bent around his hips, pulling Dean completely against the counter, against _Cas_. They're still lip locked when Dean manages to knock his glass off the damn counter, and even then he's tempted to ignore the fact that there's smashed glass all over the damn carpet because...

Because he and Cas might get to adopt a kid. They might get to be someone's parents. The moving house and the wedding and all the rest of it might all be worth it, because _they might get to be parents_.

"Is everything...?” Sam stops before he gets to the end of his question and, oh yeah, Sam and frigging everyone is here. The glass smashing didn't go unnoticed, and then Dean’s whole stag party – plus Gabriel – is stood, judging them in the doorway to their kitchen.

That's probably fair. They slipped out 'to talk' and it looks a little like they were a few minutes away from nudity. Cas looks unduly debauched given they had probably a total of two minutes passionate kissing before the glass smashing, but they were kind of frenzied about it. Dean's not entirely sure whether he would have snapped out of it enough to remember his brother and almost brother-in-law were in the next room. He might have been stunned out of it by his brain catching up with the situation, but it’s not a given.

“Wow,” Jo says, arching an eyebrow.

“Uh,” Dean says, glancing at Cas.

“Dean, would you like to explain?” Cas says, evenly. The way he’s straightening his shirt doesn’t help matters and it really, really looks like the guy is prompting to give him to deliver some bullshit excuse.

“Like, _explain_ explain.” 

“You said no news until good news,” Cas says, tilting his head slightly. “This is good news.”

“You wanna tell them?” Dean asks, heart still thudding double time.

"You should," Cas says, radiating happiness, "I got to tell you."

“Dean,” Sam says, eyes wide. Given that they were bickering over that no-news-until-good-news thing a few days ago, it’s not surprising that Sam’s caught on quick. “Are you…?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a smile spreading across his face because, because, _holy fucking shit_.

“What’s going on?” 

“We have news,”

“You’re getting married?” Gabriel suggests, because he’s Gabriel and because Gabriel seems to be labouring under the misbelief that everything that comes out of his mouth is automatically funny. Sam is practically tearing up and Dean reckons Bobby might have got the memo, too, because he looks a lot less surly than he usually does.

“Our initial adoption application has been accepted. So, we’re on this list… and if someone likes us, we might get a kid."

Bizarrely, Gabriel is the first one to tackle him for a hug. He can’t tell after that, but he does know that there are far too many people in his damn kitchen, that Charlie’s excitement is loudest, than Benny is fucking shaking Cas’ hand, that Bobby looks nothing short of _emotional_ and that Dean hopes to hell that this doesn’t fall through, because it’s pretty damn far from a definite. It probably won’t happen soon. It might still _never_ happen, but… goddamn it, it has to. It _has to_.

“Your prayer worked,” Cas says, when they’ve made it back to the same side of the kitchen after being mobbed. _That_ completely floors him but, hell, he’ll take it and he’s definitely not going to argue with Cas having it; they were going to give up and now they’ve got another line of hope. He’s not about to rain over Cas’ interpretation of events, even if he’s pretty sure he’s prescribing it to dumb luck. Probably. Outwardly, he just smiles some more and reaches for Cas’ hand.

They might be _parents_ though, which means Dean falls into just smiling at the guy when he catches his eye, then he’s leaning forward to kiss him. Holy shit. _Holy shit_. “Maybe I’ll shoot off a quick prayer that you’ll stay for a drink too.”

“Granted,” Cas says, moving closer to kiss him again. Dean grabs hold of his shirt because he just needs too. 

“This is so not how I imagined a stag do,” Charlie comments, “Aren’t we supposed to be drinking out of dick shot glasses and talking about your wild single years rather than watching the happy couple make out?”

“What wild single years?” Jo asks.

“Hey, I was wild and single,” Dean says, pulling away but keeping Cas’ hand hostage, running a thumb over Cas’ knuckles. His brain is still stuck on _application accepted_ and there’s this happy, giddy feeling sloshing around in his stomach which makes it hard to concentrate, but even _without_ that he has most of the people he loves sitting in his damn kitchen and it’s wonderful.

“When you were like _twenty_ ,” Jo says, “That doesn’t count.”

“I’d say it counted some,” Benny says, sending him a wink. Cas is apparently happy (and still in shock, looks like) enough that he doesn’t even react, which is unusual but welcome.

“ _What_?” Jo demands, glancing between them. “What?”

“I thought everyone knew about that,” Dean says and, fuck, he’s too happy to even care. Cas has swayed into his side slightly and is just resting here. They’re probably winning the award for the most physically affectionate they’ve been in front of Dean’s family, ever, but then… they beat that record fairly regularly these days.

“I need some clarification over here, Winchester.”

“We slept together,”

“Twice,” Benny grins.

“One and half times,” Dean corrects, eyes narrowed. Cas just _smiles_ next to him.

“The half being a half is an instrumental point,” Charlie nods.

“Who –“

“ – don’t even go there, Jo,” Dean cuts across her. He’s not sure why this is necessary, when he has his whole damn family here. There’s a lot of stuff they don’t know about his college years and, frankly, he’s pretty glad they don’t need to know about a hell of a lot of it. Not that he’s _ashamed_ per say, but ten years of wisdom has taught him that there’s a difference between being sex positive just because you like sex, and overcompensating. He was probably treading a fine line and he knows which way they’re going to read into it.

“Ten years ago,” Benny says, still frigging beaming. “Hey, chief, it must about our anniversary.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Dean says, “What about Cas, huh? The guy shows up for college as such a stick in the mud he was pretty much cemented in. You must have _hated_ me.”

“You were very irritating,” Cas concedes, accepting the shot Jo passes him without comment. It’s not dick shaped, thank god, but he doesn’t put it past Gabriel not to inflict that on him. “And yet very compelling.”

“That’s code for _hot_ , right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas smiles.

“I tried to hit on the guy in, like, the first month of college,” Dean says, “And I did _such_ a bad job, that they guy slept with like… I don’t know, like, half of the frigging college first.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Sam says.

“That’s cause Dean slept with the other half,” Charlie grins, handing Dean a shot glass too. 

“And now you two raging sluts are gonna be parents,” Gabriel beams, swooping in for his own shot. “It’s a beautiful life.”

“Maybe,” Dean says, catching Cas’ eyes and raising his shot glass to meet his, clinking them together.

Cas gets, probably legitimately, dragged away from Dean’s stag do half an hour later. He sends him growingly drunken texts for the rest of the evening, though, one notably featuring a lot of children holding parents’ hands emojis that make Dean’s chest hurt. He’s so fucking distracted that he loses at poker to _Sam _, of all people, and he can’t find it within himself to care. He winds up drinking too much to try and ease the queasy, excited feeling in his stomach, but predictably winds up drunk instead.__

 _ _At 2am when they call it a night, he manages to find, download and send an emoji of two guys and a kid. In the morning, he’s barely even ashamed about It, but that’s probably because he’s too distracted by his hangover.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was completely supposed to be part of the next wedding-chapter, but then it was getting close to 9k and I realised I needed to _staph_. Also, just as a disclaimer, there are three things that I never ever write -- actual sex, proposals and weddings. I also skip over all of these things when I'm reading. I know that probably makes me strange but I have a low tolerance for certain kinds of fluff, especially when it comes to proposals and weddings (there's a reason why the getting-engaged thing wasn't in any of the bits I've written for this so far). So, those fluffy epilogues at the end of stories? Always skip em. The second I sniff out a proposal I just click off them. Now I have like... 5k of wedding. I don't know how I feel about this. Either way, it should probably be posted tomorrow evening. Ack.


	12. Chapter 12

"You're up?" Sam asks, blearily wandering into the kitchen. Dean's cooking away his nervous energy because it felt like a better use of his time than genuinely freaking out, but he’s been awake for three hours and it’s still an _age_ till it’s an acceptable time to actually get up. 

"Waffles?"

"So much," Sam says, head resting in his hand.

"Nervous?”

“Hilarious,” Sam mutters, “Why are you up?”

“For waffles,” Dean says, swallowing, “Dude, can you believe I’m getting married today?”

“No,” Sam admits. “Is that _Cas_ texting you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, glancing at his phone. “He’s been sending me frigging videos since five.” Sam sends him a look. “Not like that, Sammy,” Dean says, picking up his cell and clicking on the latest. This time, it’s a damn Billy Idol video. It starts blaring out _White Wedding_ before Dean shuts it up, rolling his eyes. “That’s number eight.”

“Wow,” Sam says, “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to talk on the big day.”

“Fuck that,” Dean says, “He’s gotta be running out of ideas by now. It’s just getting interesting.”

“Did he do that Bruno Mars one?”

“I’m ashamed to be related to you,” Dean comments, dumping a coffee in front of his little brother and pouring himself another. It’s number two, which is just about okay. It probably isn’t going to help with his nervous energy, but then he’s not entirely anything’s going to help with his nervous energy at this point. He’s getting fucking _married_ today. “But yes, he did.”

Sam smirks at him.

“Go on, then,” Sam says, after a few moments where they just drink their coffee. “What did you think of Amelia?” Right. She flew in yesterday and was every bit as… fine as he’d expected to be. She’s pretty nice. Proper. He doesn’t exactly get the impression that they have a particular amount of fun together, but that’s not what Sam wants him to tell him. Apparently, he’s quiet for a little too long, though, because then Sam’s look turns sour. “Fine,”

“Come on, Sam, I met her for like half an hour. What do I know?” Dean asks. “She’s very _respectable_.”

“How do you make that sound like an insult?”

“It aint,” Dean says, “Cas is respectable. Kind of. Well.” 

“What are we talking about?” Jo asks, wondering in, “We got some kind of shower rota going?”

“Cas. Would you say he’s respectable?” Dean asks, standing up again, in part to deal with his waffles and in part because he’s just remembered about the whole wedding thing and feels a sudden need to be in motion. 

“You told me about that body shot story one time when you were drunk,” Jo says, “No, Cas is not respectable.”

“Ha, I forgot about that. Good times,” Dean smiles, “Bobby’s heading in with the first church run. So, as long as Bobby’s good to go first, do whatever the hell you like. We have two.”

“Excessive,”

“Adoption hoop. Don’t even with me.”

“Well, works for me,” Jo says, “Woah, Dean, are you cooking waffles?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, pouring Jo a coffee and nudging it over the table to her side.

“Freaking out much?”

“Nope,” Dean says, gritting his teeth and pouring himself a top up for his coffee. He can practically _hear_ Chuck giving him a lecture about caffeine not being an actual substitute for sleep, but he’s pretty sure you’re goddamn _wedding day_ doesn’t count. “Totally fucking chill.”

By the time he’s stumbled through his allotted shower slot and been forced into his tux, he’s on cup four and a half and it’s almost definitely time to _stop_.

*

“Fuck,” Dean says, the second they’ve pulled into the parking lot of the hotel he’s getting hitched at. In like, thirty minutes time. Holy _hell_. 

“What?” Sam asks. He’s actually awake and perked up beyond reasonable levels now, even though they’re wearing nearly matching get ups and they look ridiculous. In Sam’s defence, the tux looks pretty good on Dean now it actually fits, and the haircut Sam forced him into yesterday probably was necessary (if evil, when he was _that_ hungover) and, hell, these probably will make for some good photos, but that’s not the damn point. “Dean, you guys have basically been married by common law for like –” 

“ – It’s not that, bitch,” Dean interrupts and, fucking hell, he’d really like to repeatedly hit his head off his steering wheel right now (he won the debate about driving to his own wedding, like he’d ever want some other car that wasn’t his baby involved), because he’s such a goddamn idiot. Dean Winchester is the _worst_. “I forgot to take my damn pills.” 

For all he sniped at Cas for reminding to take him, he forgot. He goddamn forgot. And not even a day where he can just take his ass home and wait it out, but on his actual wedding day. Oh, _fuck_. 

“Do you have them?” 

“If I _had_ them I’d be fucking taken them instead of whining about it,” Dean snaps. To Sam’s credit, he doesn’t even bitchface in response. Apparently Dean acting like an asshole is acceptable, probably because of the whole wedding thing. “Didn’t take ‘em this morning and I’m fifty fifty about whether I took them last night. Or just... yesterday. At all.” 

Bobby’s already insides babysitting Rufus (for the personal safety of others), but he’s got Ellen and Jo in the backseat and they’re both looking at him, but more importantly he feels like he’s been turned inside out. Crap and shit and _fuck_ is Dean an idiot. 

“Where are they?” 

“Bedside table,” Dean says, throat tight. They’re getting married, they might get to be parents and Dean’s head is still such a damn mess. 

“I’ll drive back and get them,” 

“Sam,” Dean says, swallowing, because suddenly he feels like fucking bawling. It’s been a hectic few days. He’s still processing the latest run of big news items. He hasn’t really worked through the admitted he’s depressed thing, either, and his little brother is a pain in the ass. He’s also the best damn brother in the world, who’s not giving him a lecture or freaking out or any of the above. 

“Just, give me twenty minutes.”

“We’ve got fifteen.” Jo pipes up from the back. 

“Sam, I swear to God, I am not getting married if you’re not there.”

“Okay, fifteen minutes,” Sam says, clapping him on the shoulder with one hand and holding his palm out for the keys in the other. Dean drops the keys into them, stomach churning. 

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“See you in fifteen, jerk,” Sam grins, fingers closing around the keys.

It feels entirely wrong watching Sam drive away, but Ellen’s there straightening his collar whilst Jo smirks at him and, damnit, okay, he can hold off for fifteen minutes without having a complete breakdown, even when he feels like the biggest asshole for just _forgetting_. Cas is going to be a shitty mix of worried, disappointed and self-righteous when Dean gets a chance to tell him.

“Come on, Dean,” Jo says, bracingly. 

He winds up being lead inside feeling slightly dazed, nervous and sick. He doesn’t have a damn clue whether that’s a wedding thing or a not-taking-his-pills-thing (because, surely, he would have noticed sooner if it was actual withdrawal? He doesn’t even fucking know; he stopped listening before that point in the lecture), but he knows he’s damned grateful for Jo essentially pushing him in the right direction.

“Incoming groom!”

“Which groom?”

“Winchester,” Jo tells the nice woman at reception, which gets him lead into another room. 

“Fuck,” 

“If this is your not-freaking-out, I’d love to see your losing it,” Jo says, which is probably fair. 

“Shut up,” Dean says and, god damn, Sam confiscated his cell. He can’t even text Cas about the probable delay (although he’s not sure he wants to, either, because he feels like Cas won’t be impressed and he’ll have essentially signed up to being nagged for as long as he has to take the stupid pills). It’s still making him antsy though. 

“Chill out, Dean. This whole week’s been crazy. You’re allowed to let something slip.” 

“Not _this_.” 

“Just remember that for next time you get married,” 

“Who let you on this side of the door, Joanna Beth?” 

“Don’t _middle name_ at me.” 

“I need a drink,” 

“You’re fine, boy.” Ellen says, then starts rearranging his damn collar again. It really doesn’t help with his restless nervousness, frankly, but he’s loathe to tell her to back off because it looks like she’s having a serious case of emotions about all of this. 

By the time the registrar guy is knocking on the door and telling him he’s got five minutes, Dean’s nerves are shot to hell and he’s starting a damn argument with the guy about how they need more time before he twigs that the guy was being perfectly reasonable about in the first place. Given Sam’s the one who’s been liaising with him, anyway, it figures. 

Sam makes it back in eighteen minutes. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Dean mutters, finally ceasing the pacing he’s been engaged in for the last eight. They’re three minutes late. No one seems to care but Dean. 

“We’ll go take our seats,” Ellen nods, then she’s offering him the softest version of the Ellen smile and, damnit, even Jo looks a little more sentimental than she normal does, which makes this whole wedding crap feel a hell of a lot more real than it had felt up till yesterday. They were talking about it like it was some dumb, petty thing they were doing for the sake of jumping through hoops, but this is… big. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, a lump in his throat so sharp Dean’s not sure he _can_ swallow his damn meds now that he’s got them. He winds up just blinking at Sam for a few seconds before he snaps out of it and takes them with the water Sam offers him. “For all of it.” 

“You too, Dean,” Sam says, then the registrar is back and it’s down to fucking business, and Dean is absolutely not ready. 

* 

They’re not doing the aisle thing, so it’s a pretty anticlimactic case of them both entering the room from different sides and shuffling to the front. Cas looks fucking glorious and Dean almost doesn’t care that he lost the matching argument, because he’s smiling at him. Cas doesn’t look like he’s resisting the urge to vomit in the slightest. He just looks sort of lovely. He’s looking like Dean in the way he always does, like he can’t think of a single reason why he’d _want_ to look away. 

“You didn’t answer my text,” Is the greeting Dean gets, which carries loud enough for everyone to hear, and cuts through all this shitty nervousness and reminds him that _oh yeah, this is Castiel, his best fucking friend, and obviously he’s going to marry him_. It also has Benny and a couple of other indeterminate voices sniggering in the background, but that doesn’t seem to matter right now. 

“Got caught up in this thing,” Dean returns. His voice is coming out level again, which is awesome and avoids a lot of unnecessary embarrassment. 

“Are we ready to begin?” The registrar asks, leaning forward. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, swallowing, smiling. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” 

* 

Sam prepped the photographer with the brief ‘be as unobtrusive as possible. In fact, if my brother don’t know you’re there, I’ll give you a tip’ which suits Dean just fine and means he survives most of the time up to the wedding ‘breakfast’ (which might just the most illogical name of all time) without getting a tension headache. After he’s been supplied with a few beers and has gotten to dick around with a whole lot of people he really cares about he actually _volunteers_ himself for a few photos, even if it’s just so he can laugh about how much they look like a fucking boy band in twenty years’ time. Hopefully with their _kids_. 

*

Gabriel corners him a few minutes after Sam has rushed over to _suggest_ that they all sit down for food soon, by which point Dean’s had about five minutes to talk to his actual frigging _husband_ , because there’s so much socialising and crap to be done. What Dean _wants_ is to drag Cas back outside and have like, maybe just a minute, where he can press their foreheads together and regroup. Instead, Cas is talking to Meg and, God help the guy, Lucifer just a little too far away. Cas had been making his way over, but got waylaid. Then Dean had figured he’d go to the rescue, then he got held up by Sam, now Gabriel.

“Hey Bro!” Gabriel exclaims, throwing an arm around Dean’s shoulders with a fair amount of effort, actually, because the guy’s not exactly tall. 

“Gabriel,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

“I’m not feeling the family love, Deano. Say it with me. _We are family, I got all my sisters with me. We are family, I once slept with my cousin to be._ ”

“Dude, how long have you been sat on that?”

“Five years, give or take,” Gabriel grins, “For real though, congratulations. And I told you mother dearest would show at the wedding.”

“Guess so,” Dean says, glancing over to Naomi, who’s not being particularly sociable with anyone yet. Dean semi insisted that she came over for a damn photograph, because he vaguely remembers photos being _a thing_ for Naomi Novak around graduation, but he’s pretty sure all he achieved was confusing the hell out of Cas. 

“You know,” Gabriel says, “You make him fun.”

“Cas?” Dean questions, looking back to him. “Cas has always been a hoot.”

“You let Cas in on the joke, too,” Gabriel says, looking uncharacteristically serious. “Hell, I’ve known him since he was yay high and let me tell you, mutton-head, we were all laughing at him. It’s a beautiful thing, Whinechester.”

“Do you _stop_ with the wisecracks, shortstack?” 

“Do you?” Gabriel shoots back. “Welcome to the family.”

“Dean,” Sam says, coming over again. “Food.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Food.”

“You said you’d go sit down,” Sam bitchfaces and, well, Dean can hardly argue. Plus, he’s pretty sure that at least means he gets to spend five minutes with _Cas_ to maybe address the fact that they just got legitimately married.

Cas is sat down by the time Dean gets to his seat. His tie’s wonky already, which means Dean has the perfect excuse to lean forward and straighten it as he sits down. He reaches forward to kiss him, too, because he wants to and because Cas is right they’re and cause they’re frigging _married_.

“Hello Dean,”

“Hey Cas,” Dean throws back, “Guess we’re hitched. What next?”

“I suggest we imbibe copious amount of alcohol,”

“You’re awesome,” Dean grins. Food arrives before he gets a chance to say much more, but it looks so damn good Dean doesn’t even mind.

*

Sam definitely promised him there'd be no speeches, but they’ve just finished eating (and the burgers were goddamn magical) and Gabriel's standing the fuck up anyway and Dean's almost too full and too happy to give a shit.

"My brother," Gabriel says, and who the hell gave him a mic (and more to the point - where did the damn mic even come from), "The squinty one who just got married, not the other two with the superiority complexes. Hi there, bros, so glad you could make it. So, Castiel, my youngest bro, was born with a pinched frown and an innate inability to understand jokes. The guy was deathly serious. Completely literal. He got the baby talk aged six cause. He asked too many serious questions about the stork version. He used to do his homework during his lunch break." Dean's smiling at him whilst Cas shifts uncomfortably in his seat and, hell, maybe this speech thing isn't so awful after all. He knows a hell of a lot about the Cas before Dean, but it's interesting to get an outsider perspective. He likes Gabriel. He respects the guy, even if he’s a massive pain in the ass.

"So, when Cassie here heads off for college, we were all expecting four years of library books and study clubs. Enter stage left, Dean Winchester. First few months, he was known only as 'the roommate', probably because he was crushing so hard he knew saying his name would give him away. By Christmas, we spent the whole day watching him text the infamous Dean and then the guy _laughed at a cracker joke_. Michael nearly chocked on a sausage. Luci forgot to be sleazy for a whole minute." Gabriel takes a breath. "It was a bad joke, but Cassie’s there - smiling, laughing - then, I remember, he got his phone out and said 'Dean will find this amusing'"

"I didn't," Dean says, because, holy crap, he actually remembers this. He'd laughed because Cas had taken the time and energy into typing out a fucking cracker joke, but not because it was anything close to funny.

"The first time I met Dean," Gabriel says, "he was hungover and he made my little bro smile nine times in one five minute conversation. I thought he was a self-obsessed egotist, but damn was Castiel more fun around him. And, more of a miracle, this Dean asshole seemed to think he was _actually funny_ , too. I've been giving Cassie here friendly reminder to lighten up since he popped out of mother dearest 's unmentionables, then suddenly he's talking about casual sex and purposefully dropping euphemisms into conversation. He developed this give em hell attitude. Started having an actual life. Pretty sure most soft pornos have more unpredictable endings than these two, but Dean turned out to be okay under the macho man exterior, but mostly I'm selfishly celebrating. I don't think I ever appreciated my little bro for the quirky, passionate and nerdy individual he is, till I watched these two chuckleheads making hearts eyes at each other on their damn graduation day. Guess it prompted me to look again, beyond the fact that Cassie's still an uptight dickbag sometimes, and see how... fudging awesome he is, because he is. The little Novak that could, Cas is a rebel to the core, impassioned, gutsy, resilient, occasionally funny. So cheers, Deano, for helping me see that and removing the North Pole sized stick out of my little bro’s ass, and regularly replacing it with the stuff married people do in the dark. Whilst wearing panties. To Dean," Gabriel finishes, raising a glass. The response is slow, probably because of the panties thing, but then the rest of their guests are lifting their damn glasses and mumbling 'to Dean' which is, frankly, awful and makes him want to hide somewhere. "You're up, Sammy m'boy," Gabriel declares, leaning over and pressing the damn mic into Sam's hands. 

Dean would guess, from the look on Sam's face that he didn't commission this and he probably didn't know it was coming. Begrudgingly, Sam stands up.

"Yeah, so, I thought we weren't going to do this. But, okay, thanks Gabriel… My brother pretty much raised me. He was my one constant growing up. So, Dean leaving for college. .. that was big. It took a lot of us pushing him into it to go. I pushed for it, hard, but I don't think I realised how much I'd miss him till he was gone. Dean, though, he felt responsible for me. And then Cas was there, telling him different. I don't know how much everyone knows about this story, but we actually thought Dean and Cas were dating from pretty much the first year. Cas kept coming for Christmas and they'd make up two beds and we'd just keep quiet because, well, we figured he'd earned the right to be private about things. To have some time to deal. It took three years for us realise they weren't in a relationship, which lasted for a few months before they were,” Sam takes a breath, shifts slightly. He’s not looking at Dean, which is good, because Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t want him too right now.

“I, um, I used to worry that Dean would never settle. That he'd run away for all of it, like our Dad sometimes used to. It's funny, when our Dad died... Dean called me to tell me, and he was on the phone and it hadn’t sunk in yet, and all I could think was _thank god for Castiel_ over and over, because I just knew Dean needed him. I know bringing me up wasn't easy. I didn't really appreciate it at the time and by the time I had realised that, I felt so guilty. I wanted to give him back all the things it took from him. Stability, the chance to act his age and actually have some fun, his sense of self-worth, a chance to be normal, feel appreciated and loved. Then I looked up and realised that Cas already gave him all of that stuff, which I'd known, but I didn't know how much it meant. Cas, you're the only person I've ever met who's talked Dean into eating vegetables. The only person that my brother has openly talked about his feelings for. The only person I'd trust to look out for him... so, thank you, Cas. For looking after my brother and seeing how great he is. To Castiel," Sam finishes, holding his own glass aloft, and damnit if that doesn't make him as emotional as hell. 

Cas is staring at the place where his plate had been, but he's smiling slight. His gaze is soft in the way it is when he watches Dean interact with Elizabeth, or when Dean's overly involved with dumb TV shows. Dean raises his glass and takes another sip of the sparkly crap that he's pretty sure isn't champagne, but tastes just as sweet. 

"Um, Cas, you take it." Sam says, like he's just realised he's still stood up with people staring at him, then sits down quickly. That's obviously a terrible idea, but Cas dutifully stands up, looking for all the world like he's scared of the damn mic.

"Hello," Cas says, staring at everyone unblinkingly. "Thank you for coming."

He looks about as awkward as Dean would have expected, if damn sexy in his proper tux (even if Dean maintains that it's still lame they match). That's also apparently all that Cas could think to say, because then he's trying to push the damn thing in Dean's direction, which he ain't touching for anything, and they're having a silent argument over the damn thing.

Gabriel puts them out of their misery by nicking it back and saying "to the lovesick fools" which gets another toast and then, thank fuck, it's over.

*

"I suppose the day has had a certain kind of charm," Naomi says in lieu of a greeting, cornering him less than a minute after Cas has been dragged off by Charlie towards the dance floor, whilst he's waiting at the bar. He pre-warned everyone that he would _not_ be dancing, wedding or not, but that apparently wasn’t enough to stop Charlie badgering him about it. "Let me buy you a drink. Red or white?"

"Neither," Dean says, "I'll take a beer. Thanks." Naomi's lips thin slightly, but she's still attempting a smile. "I'm guessing you're more into the traditional wedding bells and roses?”

"Generally," Naomi says, "I'd like a copy of that photograph."

"Course," Dean nods, accepting his beer. "Pretty sure we've got your email address somewhere."

"Dean," Naomi says. She's dressed slightly softer than Dean usually sees her, if just in a slightly warmer grey. A less severe cut of suit jacket. It makes a bit of difference, but she still looks like she’d be more at home at a conference than a wedding. "I appreciate that you requested they be taken. That was generous of you,"

“Who says that was anything to do with me?”

“It certainly wasn’t one of my sons.”

"Hold up, are we calling a truce here?" Naomi's eyes narrow. "Just trying to clarify the situation," Dean grins.

"I am trying to… apologise."

"I appreciate the effort, but it's not me you need to convince," Dean says, "I got no beef with you, lady. Your framing it all wrong."

"Oh?"

"Do I, personally, care that you didn't show up at our graduation because you don't like me? No. Frankly, I couldn't give a damn. Do I care that Cas was upset? Yes. I'm glad you're here, Naomi, but not for my sake. You wanna buddy up and play happy families - go talk to Cas."

"My son can be... stubborn."

"Preaching to the choir," Dean says, glancing over at where he's dancing (which is a generous term, really) with Charlie and her date. "Bit rich for a woman who’s taken ten years to come round to her son's boyfriend, but whatever."

"I've never disliked you, Dean."

“So what is it, huh? If it ain’t me… what? You hate Kansas. You’re allergic to air travel. You’ve got a problem with me having a dick. Take your pick. Way I see it, those are just excuses. Cas changed, he was out of your control and it freaked you out. So you cut yourself off,” Dean says, taking a sip of beer. “That’s your issue. But you’re here, so… you trying to fix it?”

“I miss my son,”

“I’m not about to make your life difficult,” Dean says, “I lost both my parents. Cas has still got one.” 

“What should I do?” 

“You’re asking _me_?” Dean asks, “Oh, I’m willing to play nice, lady, but I’m not your damn _agony aunt_. Figure it out.” Naomi pauses, lips thinning slightly. The silence stretches on for a little too long, though, then the guilt starts seeping in. “Me and my folks are going out for dinner tomorrow before everyone flies back. You wanna join, meet everyone when they’re actually sober… drop me a line.” 

“I don’t have your number,”

“You managed to call and pay for half our damn wedding reception, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Excuse me,” Dean says, glancing back over to Cas, “I’ve got a husband to irritate.”

Cas is still with Charlie and this Lily and they’re still ‘dancing’, but what the hell. Dean just wants to actually see the guy. They didn’t even get a lot of time over dinner. Cas just _smiles_ when Dean sneaks up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, then he gets him twisting round to kiss him. Charlie drags them into a wedding selfie that’s probably all over the internet by the time the next song’s finished, but they look so damn happy in the picture that it’s difficult to care.

*

Elizabeth is taking a dance floor break to sit on Dean’s lap and ramble on about something Dean can barely understand, but goddamn is it cute. She’s so freaking adorable Dean can barely handle it, but he’s also still not over the fact that this girl is _part Benny_. 

They won’t get that, but Dean’s family’s made up of people he found along the way. Of Bobby snapping him that _family don’t end with blood, boy_ and Ellen telling him off for not picking up the damn phone. There’s Sam, obviously, but he’s also got Jo. He likes the idea that they’ll carry on building their family that way. 

“Hello, Elizabeth,” Castiel says, sitting down on the seat next to him and looking at her very seriously. 

“Hi, Ass,” Elizabeth says, sending Cas a toothy grin. Dean’s personally hoping it takes a hell of a lot longer till she gets the hang of C, because it’s equal parts precious and hilarious. “M’tired now.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Me too, Lizzie. Is it bed time yet?” 

“Nooo,” Elizabeth says, pouting. 

“You stealing my kid, chief?” 

“Yep,” Dean grins, hoisting Elizabeth up a little more. “She’s mine now.” 

“Works for me,” Benny shrugs, “We’re heading off,” 

“You okay?” Dean asks, standing up, Elizabeth balanced on his hip. There’s been a hell of a lot of alcohol around and Dean can’t imagine the kind of hell Benny’s going through. He wound up sit with Anna and her entourage who don’t drink _much_ , but they put some money behind the bar and they’ve been toasting with champagne and there’s frigging wine on the tables. 

“Yeah, I’m okay, brother,” Benny says, “Don’t wanna push it with the misses.” 

“Ah, I feel you,” Dean says, “Well, man, I’m glad you’re here. Not just for your kid.” 

“I appreciate that, Dean,” Benny grins, “You got a hot date planned tonight?” 

“Uh, no, we’re back home, with Bobby, Ellen, Sam and Jo crashing. I’m about as likely to get lucky tonight as you are.” 

“Well that’s a damn tragedy,” Benny says, smirking at him, “I’m taking my daughter before you kidnap her. Congratulations, chief.” 

* 

“Hey, Dean, we were thinking of getting a cab back soon,” Sam says, Amelia right behind him (he talked to her a little more and, yeah, she’s kind of nice. Dean reckons he could get used to her being around if it came to that). No one even _tried_ going for being a designated driver this time, which was good. Dean considers alcohol to be a fairly important part of celebrating. 

“Aren’t we going to the same place?” Dean asks, glancing round to find Cas. He’s with Michael this time. They’ve all been pretty quiet, considering, which makes Dean think that Naomi might have kicked them back into line. That’s a good sign, even if Dean’s not quite sure what to make of it. 

“Uh, no, actually…” Sam says, following Dean’s gaze towards Castiel. “I think she must have done it when she changed the food order but…” 

“What?” 

“She booked you a hotel room. Well, the honeymoon suite, actually, unless you’re not going to accept it,” 

“Like hell, Sammy,” Dean says, “Give me the damn key.” 

“Yeah,” Sam smirks, “I thought so.” 

* 

Thirty minutes later, most people have started to leave, which means Dean figures it’s an acceptable time to go seek Cas out and get their asses to the damn _honeymoon suite_ and to get naked. He’s pretty sure that’s a thing that married people are allowed to do at their own weddings so, what the hell. 

Cas is catching up with Meg when Dean wanders over, dangles the key by his index figure and winks. He doesn’t particularly feel guilty about interrupting their conversation and, if the way Cas’ eyes widen is anything to go by, Cas doesn’t care that much either. 

“I see I’ve been upstaged,” Meg sneers, in that way Meg always does, “Well played, Winchester. And Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Dean smiles back. 

“See you soon, Clarence.”

“Why do you have a hotel room key, Dean?” Cas asks, closing his hand around it and slotting their lips together for a brief, lovely kiss. 

“Because,” Dean says, hands pausing on his hips, “Your mother is trying to buy her way back into our lives.”

“By facilitating sex,”

“Hey, I aint complaining,” Dean says, stepping close enough that he can feel the familiar warmth of Cas’ body heat. Cas is frowning which really, really wasn’t the aim for this current evening, but he can kind of understand where it’s coming from. Family situations are complicated. The Novak’s have been surprisingly well behaved, all things considered. The whole day has been infinitely less stressful than their graduation day was and even most Christmases. “Holy crap, I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean,”

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “Although I would like to thank my mother first.”

“I think she took off.”

“She’s staying here,”

“Huh,” Dean says, “Maybe the other bar?”

“We’ll have a look,” Cas says, “Husband.”

“ _That_ is gonna take some getting used to,” Dean grins, nosing under Cas’ left ear. He presses a kiss to the skin there before pulling back.

“Practice makes perfect,”

“Dork,” Dean throws back, as they wonder back through to the other bar. He stops short when they get to the other bar because… because _Naomi_ is at the bar, drinking what looks like straight whiskey, but she’s also accompanied by Gabriel, Michael and Lucifer. No one’s yelling. They could almost be a normal frigging family. 

Cas goes from happy and relaxed to being completely rigid with tension in three seconds flat. 

“Castiel,” Michael says, “Congratulations, again. Do you want to join us?”

“No,” Castiel says, “Thank you for the room, mother.” 

“I packed an overnight bag for you both,” Gabriel adds in, “Stay safe, kids.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Cas says, the usual resigned tone he saves especially for Gabriel seeping back into his tone. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, Castiel.” Lucifer pipes up, “Dean.”

It’s possibly the most unsettled they’ve managed to make Dean feel in _years_.

*

"This room is sweet," Dean says, pacing the length of the room - suite really - before heading back for the complimentary champagne, which yes frigging please. "I mean, your mom's a pain sometimes, but this room is bad ass. You wanna take control of opening the champagne?"

"No," Cas says, sat on the corner of the bed - a four poster affair with the kind of number of throws Cas would probably buy if Dean didn't put his foot down (because, seriously?). "You go ahead."

Dean takes a swig straight out the bottle because, what the hell, it's their champagne. Fuck glasses. Cas sends him a soft smile for his efforts.

"I see Gabriel went shopping," Dean comments, nudging the ‘overnight bag’ Gabriel packed for them, which looks like half the stock of some seedy sex shop. The guy is obtuse and irritating on purpose, and Dean ain't touching most of the shit in that bag for anything, but the guy's at least bought some a-grade lube.

"Catch," Dean says, throwing a tube that isn't glow in the dark (which sounds hilarious, but also a hell of a lot like a health hazard) in Cas' direction. Predictably, Cas doesn't. He just blinks at the lube like it's taken him completely surprise.

"Why are you throwing lubricant at me?"

"Cause you're gonna need it, sunshine."

"You seem to be under the presumption that you're getting some tonight,"

"Sex on demand for the rest of your life. That's what marriage is about, right?"

"I'm led to believe entirely the opposite. I have been reliably informed that marriage kills sex lives.”

"Well, that ain't the contract I just signed," Dean grins, taking another swig of champagne. 

Cas throws the lube back in his direction, which Dean manages to just about catch. 

"I can work with this too," Dean grins, tossing the bottle of lube into the air then snatching it again, pausing to push his stupid formal pants down his hips slightly.

"How long have you been wearing those?" Cas asks, gaze falling to the glimpse of lace now showing over the top of his pants.

"Real answer or the sexy answer?” Dean asks, passing the bottle of champagne over to Cas, mostly so he can reveal another half inch of panties.

"I refuse to believe there is an unsexy answer."

"Only like half an hour," Dean says. “After Sam gave me the key.”

"You are gorgeous."

Dean slumps down onto the bed next to him and takes another swig of champagne.

"If marriage kills our sex life, I would rather spend my life not having sex with you than have sex with anyone else,"

"You're also slightly drunk," Cas smiles.

"And?"

"And," Cas says, "Clearly, you have plans," Cas says, reaching him over to tuck his thumbs underneath the material of the frigging panties. "It would be a shame if alcohol... interfered with said plans."

"You questioning my prowess?"

"Never," Cas smiles, " _Hubbie_." 

"D'you have a good day, Cas?"

"Yes,"

"Best day of your life?"

"No," Cas says, "I always find that... bizarre. I would hope living out the commitment is more enjoyable than making it."

"On the other hand, we do have champagne."

"True," Cas says, taking his own swig from the bottle. "Which I didn't think you liked that much."

"It's like our weekly grocery shop for a bottle." 

Cas inspects the bottle then raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe if you became vegetarian." 

"Dude,"

"Sorry, I will refrain from saying anything else blasphemous."

"You’re pretty hot for a nerdy dude in a trench coat."

" _Pretty hot_?"

"Okay, okay, you're the elite in hot nerdy dudes, with or without the trench coat."

"Are you going to finish undressing, Dean, or are you going to continue to dawdle?"

"Bossy," Dean grins, going for his shirt. He took his damn tie thing off hours ago. 

"We should have kept the photographer for longer," Cas comments, taking another swig of champagne.

"Really?"

"I think the collection is missing a vital shot of one of the grooms wearing panties." 

"Maybe for an anniversary." 

"Really?" 

"No fucking way, man." Dean says, then he has Cas in motion, swinging a leg over Dean's hips till he's straddling him, thumbs dipping back under the elastic of the damn panties. 

"It would be a very nice photograph." 

"You're not so sober yourself," Dean says, as Cas bats his hand away to refocus on undoing Dean's shirt. 

"You were taking too long," Cas says by way of explanation. 

"Too long? We got the rest of our damn lives," 

“I _hope_ my erection doesn’t last that long.” 

Dean laughs at that, let’s Cas pin him to this posh ass bed and beams up at him. 

Then there’s a knock on the door. 

“I’m not answering that,” Cas says, dipping down to kiss his neck. 

“Come on, Cas, it could be important.” 

“I’m busy,” 

“Cas,” Dean says, gently pushing him off him. He’s not strictly presentable in that his shirts undone, but he’s wearing _enough_ clothing that he just heads to the door as it is. 

It turns out to be a woman from room service with a second bottle of champagne, this time sent from Naomi rather than the one that came in the room. She describes it as ‘exclusive’ and seems slightly flustered as she garbles through her explanation then leaves as quickly as possible. 

“Your Mom is pulling out all the stops, huh?” Dean says, wandering back to the bed to pass Cas the champagne. Cas takes it from him and expects the bottle for a few seconds. 

“This bottle is probably worth our weeks grocery shopping,” Cas comments. 

“Room service girl – virgin or homophobic. What’s your guess? She was, like, freaking out.” 

“You’re visibly wearing women’s underwear,” Cas says. Dean glances down at himself and frowns because, right, there’s definitely a shock of lace. “I was going to warn you, but you’d already opened the door.” 

“Whatever,” 

“She was probably ‘ _freaking out_ ’ because you’re incredible attractive.” 

“You don’t have to do damage control, Cas, I don’t care,” Dean says, “Your brother basically told everyone at our damn wedding about it anyway.” 

“That’s true,” 

“Which means _you’ve_ talked to Gabriel about this.” 

“Yes,” Cas admits, “Do you care about that?”

“Not right now,” Dean says, “I _care_ about the fact that we were in the middle of something, back there, that’s there’s a bottle and half of champagne to be drunk, and we haven’t consummated our marriage yet.” Dean says, crawling over to Cas’ side of the bed to get access to his damn lips. “You’re so fucking sexy right now I don’t even know where to start.” 

“I have ideas,” Cas says, voice deep, low and loose from a mixture of champagne and wine. He sounds like his voice has been soaked in whiskey. The guy’s only just removed his tux jacket and it’s unspeakably attractive. Hot damn, but he barely understands how anything – even his shitty depression – could have made him _not_ want to rip his shirt off and get his lips on every damn inch of his skin (including the back of his knees, because Dean definitely hasn’t forgotten about that). “Extended ideas. Whole plots. I could fill novels.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Dean grins, “I love it.”

“Hmm, I love you,”

“And some,” Dean grins, as Cas works his thumbs back under the elastic of his damn panties. 

“Congratulations on your recent marriage, Dean.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dean grins, then Cas takes another swig of less expensive champagne and starts actually undoing his shirt. 

They have the kind of sex that he can only ever conceive of having with Cas, because it's one part lazy and, one part unhurried and one part _familiar need_ pooling in his gut. They're both too drunk and too content to work up anything more than surface-level-passion. There's no real hurry. They've got another bottle of champagne to drink and there's something about just being _here_ and close and actually fucking relaxed that means nether of them are in a particular rush to reach the finish line. 

After, they stay up and talk until there’s no champagne left. Then someone – Dean’s blaming Cas – airs out that they should try and screw again, which goes as well as could be expected considering. In the morning, Dean’s in the shower rambling about the excellent water pressure when Cas bursts in to throw up a significant amount of champagne (“well, if it’s that expensive you might as well taste it twice” “please stop talking, Dean”) then proceeds to feel utterly miserable and hungover for the rest of the day. 

It’s not a bad start to married life, all things considered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I wrote a wedding! And I even cut out the scene from the next day where they argue hah. And it's fluffy! Like all the way through fluffy!


	13. Chapter 13

They have a blazing row on the third day of their honeymoon because Dean makes some offhand comment about how he's not going back to therapy. It winds up in actual ripping-off-clothes angry sex, of a sort they haven't had for years. It derails the argument to the point that Dean winds up completely blissed out and boneless, at least until Cas sits up in the bed they barely made it to next to him. Cas doesn't exactly look like he's over the argument in the way than Dean is, which means Dean has to act like a fucking adult and ask him to explain the damn problem again. This time without the incendiary devices, because that’s how relationships work, apparently. 

"You're still mad at me," Dean comments, watching him. They're both butt naked and a little gross from the sex, but Dean would be content not to deal with it for as long as possible. They were supposed to be on the road hours ago, but whatever. 

"Why would sex stop me being mad at you?" 

"It's worked before," Dean shrugs, “And come on, man, that was good sex."

"It always is," Castiel comments, still not looking at him. "Do you think you started an argument in order to avoid having an actual conversation?"

"Do you think you stuck your hands down my pants in order to avoid having an argument?" Dean throws back, "I do before I psychoanalyse, buddy, and I leave that bit up to you."

"You're very frustrating."

"Oh, you bet I am. Pity you're married to this hot mess, darling."

"You've reached the limit of how many times referencing our marriage can be used as a free pass,"

"We've been married for less than a week,"

"Dean," Cas says, face pinched into a frown. "Are you going to discuss this with me or not?"

"Not," Dean says, gut twisting, then he's standing up and heading to the bathroom. "I am going to take a shower, you can do whatever you damn well please."

So much for adulthood. 

“Do not walk away from this conversation, Dean.”

“It's not a conversation if you're talking to yourself.”

“Dean,” 

“What the hell is there to talk about?” Dean asks, turning back around and glaring. He's still in his birthday suit, and it reminds him vaguely of the first big argument they had after they started sleeping together, which doesn’t help. “I said I couldn't let you into this stuff, Cas, you accepted it.”

“Because you were taking other measures,” 

“So you compromised what you wanted and now you're being a baby about it,” Dean says and, for fuck’s sake, this conversation’s too ridiculous to have naked. He snatches the first thing out of their suitcase and pulls it on. It only irritates him further that the jeans are a little too snug because, goddamn. 

“It's not about what I want, it's about what's good for you.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “As long as it’s what _you_ think is good for me. It’s bullshit, Cas. I just don't frigging get why you're upset about this.”

“Really?” 

“Fucking really. It's my call.” Dean snaps, throwing a clean pair of boxers at Cas because it’s even _stranger_ to be having an argument when they’re mismatched. 

“Yes, it is.”

“So, conversation over,”

“No,” 

“Yes, Castiel. We're done here.”

“Do you know how worried I've been?” Cas asks, still sat on the bed and watching him with his bright, blue eyes. Fuck _Cas_. Obviously, Dean knows Cas has been worried. He can’t stop thinking about Cas upset and shaken in the kitchen as he pretty much fucking _begged_ Dean to listen to his side of the story. It’s etched into his memory. That’s never fading. 

“It's been crushing me, damnit Cas, yes I know. I know, okay. I get it.”

“You going back on your word makes me feel like I took advantage of your vulnerability to push you into getting help.”

“No, man, you didn't... just, no,” Dean says, some of the fight dropping out the bottom of his stomach. He just wanted to be done with this whole conversation. He just doesn’t want this crap to monopolise their honeymoon, too.

“But you won't talk to me about it, again.”

“There's nothing to say.”

“Dean, the last time before this honeymoon I really saw you, you were crying about your father in our kitchen. Now you're acting as though these past months never happened.”

“Don't bring that up,” Dean snaps, then he’s back to irritability again. Goddamn, but he thought they were _passed_ this, or at least that they could pretend to be whilst they screwed around and spent some uncomplicated vacation time together.

“Someone has to,”

“Why?” 

“Because it scares me. Because we need to acknowledge that this is something that might happen again. Because it's important.”

“Cas, I don't know how the hell I can feel so good right now when two weeks ago I felt like a black hole had opened in my chest, okay? I don't understand. Tomorrow I could wake up and not be able to get up. I can't acknowledged that, it’s fucking terrifying. I gotta shove it down and keep telling myself I won.”

“What if the next time this happens, we have a child?”

That completely winds him. He's not expecting Cas to throw _that_ at him and it's way below the belt. It’s the emotional equivalent of Cas kicking him in the nuts. Cas is still virtually naked and they're in some crumby hotel on the driving leg of their honeymoon and it’s just… it goddamn _hurts_.

“Say how you really feel, Cas.” 

“I am _trying_ " 

“So you think I'm gonna be a shitty father?”

“That's not even adjacent to what I'm saying and you know it, Dean, I already feel awful forcing you to have this conversation you clearly don't want to have, do not make it worse by extrapolating.”

“Oh I'm sorry I'm making this so hard for you, my fucking bad.” Dean snaps, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and _not looking_ at the guy, because his head's spinning in a messed-up thought kind of way, and he needs to derail that train of thought before it drives him back over the edge. Fucking _damnit_.

“Obviously, I hope that this never happens again, but realistically...”

“Damnit, Cas, why are you doing this?”

“I fought with myself for years to speak about this with you, Dean, and I am not going to allow you to pretend it never happened now.” 

“What do you want from me? Tell me what the magic fucking word is to make this conversation end. I'll take these shitty pills every day till the end of time, I'll do the CBT, I'll parade around Lawrence butt naked in a wig. Just tell me what I gotta do stop this conversation.”

Cas hears something in Dean’s voice that snaps him out of his making-a-point-crusade and then has him _staring_ like he’s just started seeing him for the first time. Dean’s still not looking, but he can feel Cas’ gaze on the side of his face. 

“I'm pushing you too hard,”

“Damn right you are,”

“I'm sorry.” 

“You're not,” 

“Dean, please,”

“Please _what_?” Dean asks, kneading his forehead to try and chase away the voice. “Don't do this. I can't... I can't deal with this right now. Right ever. So just... stop."

Cas' lips purse slightly as he considers him.

"I was trying to make a point.”

"Well you made it, buddy."

"But that doesn't justify the means of making that point. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. "

"Don't mean it aint true,"

"It was cruel," Cas says, inching closer, hand settling on the familiar place on his thigh."I'll make it up to you,"

"Don't bother,”

"Dean,"

"Just, leave me alone for a while," Dean says. He’s more… hurt than pissed off, but he has a tendency to lash out and he doesn’t really want to do that right now. He just… he needs some space. He needs to tend to his fucking wounds.

"We're in a hotel in the middle of nowhere,"

"Well just don't talk to me for a bit then. Read your book or something.”

Cas doesn’t so much agree to the sentiment as silently remove himself from the other side of the bed. He gets dressed and does a little of the packing (they didn’t exactly _unpack_ , it’s just that the enthusiastic angry-sex meant repacking was suddenly required), then he heads to chair near the window. He gets out his book. He’s not turning the pages at the rate he usually does, but the guy’s at least making an effort. Dean uses the space to have the quickest shower of all time then slump back down on the bed, not quite sulking.

Dean's phone starts a good forty minutes later. Cas is the one who actually makes the effort to cross the room and pick it up, even though it’s on the bedside table. 

“Hello Sam... No, we're still in Texas. Progress today has been... limited. I don't know," Cas says, "Dean isn't currently speaking to me, it would seem."

"So frigging childish," Dean snaps, snatching the phone out of Cas' hand. "Hey, Sammy."

“You and Cas arguing?” Sam asks.

"Me and Cas are always arguing," Dean throws back, reaching out to rest a hand on Cas' knee as a peace offering, because he probably sounds madder than he is. He's not really angry. He just feels... a little wounded. 

"Why is that?"

"Cause we're both oversensitive, stubborn and pig headed. Sometimes Cas gets so invested in proving he's self-righteous that he forgets people have feelings, sometimes I'm too hot headed and fly off the handle before I've really listened. So, we butt heads. Figuratively.”

“What about?” Sam asks, as Dean nudges Cas to pull him a little closer. Cas just follows his movement because Cas is great, really, even if he’s been kind of asshole. 

“Stuff,” 

“Like, Cas and his job?”

“We never actually argued about that. I just, uh, repeatedly let the guy know he needed better boundaries.”

“Oh,” Sam says, “the way Cas was talking I thought it might have been a regular point of contention.”

“That's the oversensitive thing,” Dean says, but he'd sort of forgotten about Cas telling his boss to suck it just because it sunk in that the reason Dean was asking him to do it was because of Dean. The pre wedding weeks were such a rush of stuff, it all wound up this blur. Dean moves into Cas' side of the bed and uses the hand still on Cas' knee to guide him back so that he's curled against Dean's side. “We didn't argue about it. Just, my feelings on it were clear.”

“Or about Cas' mom coming to that meal thing?”

“Why would we argue about that?”

“You're not exactly Naomi's biggest fan,”

“Naomi doesn't have fans. She has people she's still in control of and people she lost control of.”

“You know what I mean,” 

“Sam, I invited her to the meal,” Dean says and, yeah, he’d almost forgotten about that too. It’s been a pretty busy few months. Therapy. Weddings. Adoption. Cas’ Mom. 

“ _You_ invited her?”

“Cas wasn't going to. He's stubborn, remember?”

“But...”

“Sam, if I could change one thing, it'd be that I let it be too damn easy for Dad to drift off. We didn't know he was dead for weeks. I ain't saying that's my fault, or that it was my responsibility but, still. She came to the wedding. She paid for a part of it. That's an olive branch, way I see it. No one needs those kinds of regrets. If she flakes, that sucks, but it won't be cause of our end. I tried to get dad to jump through hoops and it tanked. So, yeah, I invited her. She's still Cas' mom.”

“So what _are_ you arguing about?” 

“Whether your haircut makes you look more like a woman or a jaded rock star.”

“Dean,”

“I'd rather not talk about it when we're right in the middle of it. Especially when the guy's right here,”

“Cas is still there?” Sam asks, his surprise evident.

“Where else would he be?”

“I don't know, Dean, I just didn't realise Cas could hear your end of the conversation.”

“He can probably hear both sides, the volume you're talking,”

“I can,” Cas confirms, as Dean rakes his fingers through the guy's hair.

“There you go,” 

“You're just sat there talking about the fact that you're arguing when he's right there?”

“Well, he knows we're arguing. He's been here all morning,” Dean throws out, as Cas tilts his head slightly to give Dean a better angle for the hair stroking.

“Dean,”

“Married people don't have secrets. That and Cas hears at least one end if most of our conversations and has done for like... nearly fifteen years. Because we _live together_.”

“Don't take it out on me because you're arguing with Cas,”

“Why?” Dean asks. “If I took it out on you rather than Cas we might have actually checked out this morning, instead of being hauled up in some hotel in Texas. We could be in Mexico by now. Sounds like a good deal to me.” 

“Fine,” Sam says, and Dean can hear the eye roll. “I'm just saying your lives might be easier if you stopped fighting all the time.”

“Well, damn, I never thought of that.” 

“You're such an idiot Dean. I'll leave you to your awkward close quarter argument. Call me when you hit Mexico.” 

“Will do. Say hi to Amelia for me. And the dog.” 

“I'm getting rid of her,” 

“Well, I can't say I didn't tell you,” 

“The _dog_ Dean.” 

“That's not a nice way to talk about your girlfriend.”

“I'm hanging up,” 

“Atta boy, Sam,” Dean grins, then dumps his phone on the bed next to him, closing his eyes for a second. Cas moves slightly to prop himself up on his elbow and watch him.

“I didn't realise you spoke to my mother.”

“Yeah, we had a good old catch up at the wedding.”

“Or that you'd invited her along to the meal,” 

“You thought she just turned up?” Dean asks, drinking in his expressions and the way his body’s still curved towards him, even though they’re technically arguing and Dean’s pretty sure that he’s still pissed.

“Dean, she did hack into our wedding plans.”

“Fair enough,” Dean says, “no, I said she could show. Wasn't really expecting her to, particularly without the Calvary,” 

“She told me she'd had words with Michael and Lucifer,”

“That I'd pay to see,” 

“Dean,” Cas sighs, blinking at him. “You’re constantly loyal to what you perceive to be my happiness is... astounding. You always have my best interests at heart.”

“Hey, I fuck up,”

“You do it so naturally. I try, but I break things and hurt you instead.”

“Cas, you're amazing, okay?”

“Your loyalty has always been breath taking,” Cas says, “I hope I never take advantage of it again.” 

“If I take your breath will you stop spouting mush?”

Cas smiles. Sam's right though. This isn't worth an argument.

“I upset you,”

“Then maybe I should stop being such a goddamn baby.”

“Don't talk about yourself like that,” Cas frowns. “I will make it up to you.”

“You're forgiven. Forever. Whatever you do.”

“I could give you an apology blow job,”

“If it makes you feel better. Later, though. We were supposed to set off early. We’re going to have to pay for late check out and I ain’t staying in this dump another night.” Dean says, rolling over into Cas’ space to kiss him. Cas curls a hand around the back of his head to hold him hostage and kiss him again. Cas flips them over to kiss harder. “We good?”

“I’m still upset with you,” Cas says, standing up to finish of the little packing they have to do. “You ripped my shirt,”

“I actually _ripped_ it? Dude, we still got it.”

“It’s my favourite,”

“I’ll sew it up,”

“You can sew?”

“Used to be dirt poor, remember?” Dean asks, shoving the rest of their shit in the suitcase and zipping it up. They haven’t thrown away nearly enough of the creepy sex crap Gabriel bought them for Dean’s liking. Cas grabs their jackets and does a cursory check of the room.

“I forget, sometimes,” Cas says, “I want another kiss.”

“What?” Dean asks, lugging their case towards the door.

“Another kiss,” Cas repeats, cornering him in the doorway.

“No, you weirdo,” Dean says, which gets Cas trying to chase his lips whilst Dean’s backing out the doorway, them both tripping over the damn suitcase and laughing their way out of the hotel room. It’s sort of perfect, actually.

*

Dean's hunched over his cell working out an appropriate reply to Benny's text - it's a long, complicated thing about craving a drink and missing Elizabeth that Dean barely has the concepts available to twist together and understand how he must be feeling. He's just typing out a _I hear you, buddy. Keep battling on_ when he's suddenly got Cas behind him, his thumbs digging into the flesh of Dean's aching shoulders.

"We shouldn't have driven so long."

"Catching up for yesterday," 

"You're not in your early twenties anymore."

"I'm in my early thirties, man, I'm not passed it."

"Your back hurts," Cas points out, kneading the tension out his muscles.

"That's the shitty motel we stayed in last night, not the driving. Swear I had a bust spring up my ass half the night." 

"I can help,"

"You been taking massage classes on the sly?"

"Take off your shirt and lie down."

"Aye aye, captain," Dean says, chucking his shirt in Cas' face because it's funny, then deletes his draft to Benny, types out _always here to listen however bad it gets_ then sends it off. 

"Where does it hurt?"

"My dick," Dean suggests, as Cas swings a leg over him and continues teasing out the pain in his shoulders. It's his own fault for driving with his hands clenched on the wheel for two days, but now this actually feels pretty damn good. 

"I've never heard of a happy beginning. Perhaps we could start a new trend."

"Couple of inches lower than where you are now,"

"Here?"

"Yeah," Dean says, then sucks in a moan because, crap, that helps.

"You've been quiet."

"Sorry. I know I haven't been a lot of fun."

"You are my definition of fun,"

"You need to get a new dictionary," Dean says, "I'm not... look, I'm probably not ducking out on therapy. I'm still taking these shitty pills. I don’t know. I’d just rather pretend this ain't happening."

"I can understand that,"

"Yeah, but you... still gotta feel like whiplash on your end. Anyway, fuck that, I don't wanna talk about it till we're back from the honeymoon. I just wanna roll around in how in love with you I am, without making room for all that other stuff."

"You mean our lives,"

"I love our lives," Dean says, "but, Cas... you know what I was saying about relying on each other? About how we're closer now than ever. I guess I just feel that's cause we took some time out to talk about irrelevant crap, about our feelings and your philosophy's and how my brain works. We get dragged down in plans and schedules and how was your day dears and _the future_ and I forget to tell you that I spent a solid ten minutes this morning thinkin' bout the way you smile when you think about having kids. I just wanna do that for two weeks."

"Does that mean I'm permitted to tell you how much I enjoy watching you tap among to AC/DC."

"Cas, it was Styx. Not even remotely similar," Dean smiles. "But yeah, it's our damn honeymoon. Let's act gross. We'll get strangers to take our photos, lose hours making out, talk until the sun starts rising. Just me and you. No future, no mortgage, no weddings, no depression, no adoptions. Just me and you."

“That sounds lovely,” 

“And we'll talk about the other stuff on the way home,” Dean says, “Or never. Either works for me.”

“Hmm,” Cas says, fingertips pausing on his skin. Dean’s pretty sure the guy’s about to proposition him, because it’s a pretty good moment for it. They’re in a pretty nice hotel, this time, on their damn honeymoon. Dean’s already partially undressed. If ever there was a time to suggest fooling around, it’s probably now. Dean’s just looking forward to how Cas is going to actually bring it up… and then his damn cell starts ringing. 

It’s like the fucking thing just heard Dean declare that the extraneous non-Cas stuff can piss off for the rest of the honeymoon and now it’s trying to test him.

Cas reaches for the phone.

“It’s your brother,”

“Ignore it,” Dean says.

“Are you sure? He’s text you as well.”

“Sam’s an adult. He can deal.”

“You don’t _have_ to ignore Sam just because it’s our honeymoon.”

“That’s not what I’m doing, jackass,” Dean says, “I wanna talk to you right now. Sam can wait.”

“Talk,” Cas repeats, voice laced with amusement.

“Talk. Make out. Screw on this nice hotel bed. That’s just semantics.”

“I think I prefer the term ‘making love’ to screwing.” Cas says, which… well, makes Dean grin and nudge Cas off him so he can turn around and properly look at the guy. He’s smirking, obviously, because he’s Castiel Novak-Winchester and he’s a total shit. 

“You’re lucky I’m tied to you legally, shmuck,” Dean says, “Far too complicated to get rid of you now.”

“Hello, husband.” 

“That’s gonna take a long time to get used to,” Dean smiles, craning his neck forward to kiss Cas’ bottom lip. His still got the therapy bullshit clogging up the back of his head. He’s still forcing himself to take the damn pills every morning, but their whole responsibility at the moment is eventually managing the drive to Mexico so Cas can geek out over the historical, cultural crap that Dean knows nothing about (and cares about as much about), whilst Dean drinks Tequila and eats actual Mexican food. It was a compromise of such, except that Dean didn’t much care where they went as long as they were together and he wasn’t subjected to a flying death trap. It was relatively cheap, drivable and warm, so Dean’s happy, and he can handle that level of responsibility pretty easily. It’s not hard to be on holiday with Cas. Going back to work is going to be a different thing altogether, but he can probably handle it.

“I intend for you to have a very long time to do so,” Cas says, “Now, how would you feel about me trying on your new panties?”

Favourably, basically. 

*

“Why were you late for the wedding?” Cas asks, on their second to last night in Mexico. It’s too hot to damn well sleep and Dean’s beginning to miss the much more bearable Kansas weather, at least at night. It’s really too hot to cuddle, but they’re doing it anyway because Cas started talking about his Mom and his brothers and how he’s got this tentative hope sprouting up that, just maybe, they can stow their crap and try being an actual family. It’d be pretty sweet if their future kids got some experience of a nuclear family unit, even if it was just from Michael and Lucifer’s probable 2.4 kids and a slightly frosty grandma. Dean’s less hopeful than Cas, really, but that’s cause it doesn’t matter as much to him. To him, they’re all just assholes. Their Cas’ _family_ , however shitty they are. Still, things might change. They might.

“Uh,” Dean says because, crap, he’d forgotten to mention that. He wasn’t keeping it a secret, exactly, it just sipped his mind amongst everything else. He barely saw Cas on the actual day to tell him, then they were heading off again. “I had to send Sam back for my happy pills.”

“Your anti-depressants?”

“Yes,” Dean exhales, “I fucking _forgot_ to take them because I’m a goddamn idiot, all right? Might have forgotten to take them the night before, too. I don’t know, but I was getting this stupid headache and then I realised and… yeah,” Dean cuts himself off, because he’s just realised Cas wasn’t’ asking for anything further than that. Dean’s over justifying himself.

“I see,”

“That’s your response?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” Dean says, “But I’d like something.”

“Obviously, it worries me that you forgot to take them,” Cas says, “But we were getting married.” 

“Exactly,” Dean says, “I dropped the ball, man.”

“You didn’t,” Cas says, “You remembered. Just… late,” Cas continues, heads still resting on Dean’s chest. 

“Well, whatever. It’s done.” 

“It is not worth losing sleep over,”

“You’re only saying that because you didn’t have the groom having a total mental breakdown at the front of the church,” Dean says, “If Sammy hadn’t arrived back in time…” 

“… you would have been _fine_ ,” Castiel interjects, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at him. “I thought you’d ceased seeing this as an excuse to think badly about yourself.”

“Really? Man, Chuck’s good, but he’s not a miracle worker,” Dean mutters, “My head’s fucked.”

“Your head’s a wonder,” Cas counteracts, “You won’t _need_ the anti-depressants forever.”

“What if I do?” Dean asks, mouth dry, and not just because of the _heat_

“Then we deal with it,”

“What if I take so many dumb pills I frigging _rattle_ , I go to therapy every damn week, I become a CBT master and I still can’t get out of bed some days.”

“For richer for poorer,” Cas says, “For better or worse. In _sickness_ and in health.”

“Dude, shut up,” Dean grins, “It’s way too early to renew our damn vows.”

“I meant it,”

“I know,” Dean says, swallows. “So, you reckon our younger selves would have seen this coming? Wedding bells. Adoption. Mortgages.”

“I don’t think they’d have been as surprised as we like to think,” Castiel says, “Sometimes I think we were inevitable.”

“Nah, that kind of talks gets you complacent,” Dean says, “I reckon we just…fell in love so hard it knocked all our other priorities loose. At least when we thought we were gonna sink it.”

“That’s very poetic,” Cas says, “Do you remember that poem I wrote about your dick?”

“I have fucking nightmares about that poem,” Dean beams, “You were so drunk, Jesus Christ. How do _you_ remember that poem?”

“You recorded it,” Cas smiles, twisting forward to kiss him, and then again. He draws back before seeming to change his mind and going in for another. “I could recite it again.”

“Dunno if that’s the ‘worst’ the priest was referring to in _better or worse_ ,” Dean grins, “We should sleep, man.”

“Hmmm,” Cas says, then curls around him like a damn cat. “Goodnight, husband.”

It’s definitely too hot to be cuddling, but Dean just sweats through it. It’s worth it.

*

“We’re twenty miles from home.”

“Guess so.”

“Are you going to start CBT with Chuck?”

“Yeah. Sounds like less fun than my goddamn tax returns but, yeah, I’ll go.” 

“Are you going to continue taking your anti-depressants?”

“Withdrawal sounds like a bitch.”

“Dean,”

“I wanna work towards not needing them, if that’s possible. The idea that forgetting to take them could screw with my head scares the hell out of me. How can a damn _pill_ make everything so much easier?”

“Brain chemistry.”

“Rhetorical question, assbutt.”

“That’s my word,”

“You bet it is, sweetheart.”

“Do you want me and Sam to stay out of it?”

“To an extent, yeah. I’ll keep you updated. Are we done with the twenty questions yet?”

“Are you going to carry me through the threshold of our marital home?”

“You try and stop me, Hubbie.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...okay, I lied. Just one more after this one. Because the honeymoon took over big time. But, fourteen is a much better number, right?


	14. Chapter 14

_January, 2028_

Everything Dean's done today is wrong. It's like Emma can sense the fact that he feels like utter crap and it's killing her buzz too. She's been anti-social, nervously crying, damn near refusing to eat - the kind of stuff they got at the beginning, but haven't had for a couple of months now. Dean honestly thought they were making progress, but it feels like all of that slid away in the past few days. Cas is back at work. Dean feels like he hasn't left the house since they bought Emma home, even if that's not actually true, and he's restless, exhausted, prickly and can't make the voice in the back of his head telling him he's fucking up this little girl's whole life to shut up. Missouri told him they could have support. As much support as they wanted, because Emma has such complex _needs_ that Dean feels like he’s got no hope in hell of actually meeting. 

The fact that his new meds haven’t kicked in yet doesn’t help. He hasn’t been med-free since their _almost_ adoption that fell through eighteen months ago, but he built up some tolerance and he had to switch and the whole thing is bullshit. The fact that he’s got Benny sat in his kitchen amongst the ridiculous level of mess doesn’t help. The fact that Cas is late home from work for the _third_ time this week absolutely does not help. 

“Dean, I'm sorry,” Cas is saying before he's even got through the door and has seen Benny holding their daughter. He sounds harried, but then Dean’s felt rushed off his feet all damn day even though he hasn’t frigging _done_ anything. He’s up to his ass in nappies and excessively chopped up food, but he hasn’t actually achieved anything. 

"I thought we agreed you weren't doing this anymore?" Dean asks through gritted teeth. Emma instantly picks up on the bad vibe in the room because she's that hypersensitive to people's feelings that she might just be psychic and starts fussing. Dean scoops her out of Benny's arms and has her squirming and burying her face in Dean's shoulder in under a second flat. 

"My mother has decided I'm the only one sympathetic to her plight." Cas says, voice forcefully level. 

"I thought the accident wasn't that bad." 

"Nevertheless, she called me. Then Gabriel called, which meant I was late and then I hit traffic -" 

"Cas, you -" Emma picks up on his tone and instantly looks like Dean's personally betrayed her. 

"Here," Cas says, reaching for her. "I apologise for upsetting your father, Emma." 

"Dad," 

"Hello." 

“Hello Dad," 

"You can't divert a perfectly valid argument by being cute every time, Emma, especially when you've been such a terror all day," Dean mutters, “but, whatever. Whatever." 

"She's been difficult?" 

"You'd know if you answered your damn phone." Emma hiccups in a way that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Dean swallows back his desire to snap at him because they agreed not to do that anymore. "I mean, it _upsets me_ that I'm apparently the only person you don't fucking answer. A _text_ to say you were late would have been fine, man, you just..." 

"I am half an hour late home, Dean. Please get some perspective." 

"Perspective?" 

“You need a break,” 

“I need a _break_ ,” Dean hisses, jaw locked. 

“He’s got a point, chief,” Benny pipes up, which is dangerous ground, frankly. It’s enough to knock him off his high horse to actually get the perspective Cas apparently thinks he needs because _fucking hell_ Dean is being a nightmare. He’s irritable. He’s exhausted. He’s looking for reasons to yell at Cas because he is _struggling_. Benny wouldn’t get involved in their damn argument if that wasn’t obvious. 

“Okay,” Dean snaps, “Okay. Tell me how I get this _break_?” 

“I could babysit,” Benny shrugs. 

“Man, I don’t know,” Dean says, his gut twisting over. He barely trusts himself and Cas with Emma, because she’s…. she’s hard work. She’s the neediest individual he’s ever been responsible for. She’s just _need_ and _need_ and Dean did not know it’d be this hard. 

“Benny has a daughter, Dean,” Cas says, “A daughter who has been a toddler.” 

“Yeah, well, way I remember it he wasn’t there all much,” Dean snaps. There’s a few seconds of silence in which Dean actually _hears_ the words that actually just came out of his mouth, then Emma starts crying. “Fuck.” 

Benny has his eyebrows slightly raised. 

“I’m going to take Emma upstairs,” Cas says carefully, over the screaming. 

“Benny,” Dean says, “I didn’t… fuck. I’m sorry.” 

“I think you need sleep, brother, not a work out.” 

“Please take me out of this house,” Dean mutters, “Please.” 

“Okay, Winchester,” Benny agrees. He doesn’t look as pissed off as he probably should be, because Dean’s being a complete asshole. He should win awards for the massive levels of douchebaggery that he’s been displaying for the past week. By all rights, Benny should have slammed out of their house and waited for Dean too fucking grovel, but Benny’s not like that. He just shrugs his big shoulders and reaches for his car keys. 

* 

Benny takes him to a bar and orders himself a soda. Dean gets a beer and essentially faceplants on the table. He’s exhausted, stressed out and a little bit miserable. 

“You know how I said we could definitely handle a kid with complex needs?” Dean asks, still face down on the table. “I was wrong.” 

“You’re doing okay, chief,” Benny says, “Except the acting like an asshole thing,” 

“Benny, I am _so_ sorry,” Dean says, “Cas might be right about the break.” 

“You think?” Benny asks. 

“This full time parent thing is goddamn hard,” Dean says, “I love her so damn much,” 

It actually kind of scares him. He's self aware enough to know that he's always been too protective over Sam and Cas, but Emma is a whole different level. Thinking of the people who hurt her makes his blood boil. Thinking about how the adoption people could decide they're not coping and take away actually fucking cripples him. 

“But being at home every day ain’t helping your mental health?” 

“That,” Dean agrees, “She needs me,” 

“Mhmmm,” Benny agrees, “Drink your beer, brother.” Dean takes a drink. “How’s the marriage?” 

“Well, we pretty much haven’t seen each other. I’m acting like some puffed up douchebag whenever we do. Cas is frustrated cause he barely gets to see Emma since going back to work. She, like, _never_ sleeps. These news meds might be decimating my sex drive or that might be the eight hours a day of nappy changing, but either way we’re at a real low point. Not the lowest, but close to. Haven’t gone on a date since Emma. Haven’t, I dunno, talked properly for weeks. I’m tired, man. We got the adoption people coming to check up on us real soon and…”

“You need some help,” 

“I’m getting plenty of fucking help,” 

“With Emma,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “That whole, extended support network thing is sounding aces right now.” 

“You don’t trust me, that’s fine and, frankly, I got my own shit to deal with – “ 

“– that’s not what I meant, Benny.” 

“– but you need two need some support. Ain’t no shame in that, chief. Kids are tough.” 

“Hmm,” Dean says, then takes another swig of beer. His head hurts. He wants to curl in bed with Cas, but he’s not sure if he’s going to get the chance. Cas is probably mad at him for being unreasonable and prickly and a dick to Benny (because Cas is much more argumentative than Benny’s ever been), but he’s also probably exhausted from work, and getting up for Emma during the night, and his Mom’s stupid car crash and Zachariah being a douchebag. 

“Call Bobby and Ellen, Dean,” Benny says, “Or I won’t be so understanding next time you chew me out some.” 

* 

When he gets back, Cas is asleep with Emma passed out on his chest on the sofa. More than anything, he wants to join the guy, but it’s logistically complicated. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to swing it without Emma waking up and Cas probably wouldn’t thank him for that. Instead, he slumps down on the floor next to them in a way that means he can rest his head on Cas’ left arm. He’d like to run his fingers through Emma’s curls, but… again, likely to result in a full screaming match. Emma’s not good at working out what kind of touch is friendly when she’s half asleep. 

Crap, but Dean feels awful. He’s back to feeling like he’s been gutted and it’s shitty, because he has every single damn thing he wanted. He has Castiel. He has Emma. They have their nice house. Sam is dating someone Dean actually approves of and, hell, Sam’s serious about her. Dean’s got his car. He likes his job. Everything’s perfect and Dean’s just… 

Dean calls Ellen. It’s too late to, really, but she picks up on the second ring anyway. 

“You finally calling me, boy?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, throat tight, “Yeah I’m calling.” 

“You okay, kid?” 

“Not so much,” Dean replies and, goddamn, now he’s crying. “I’m tired, Ellen. Feel like I’m screwing everything up. Emma…” 

“Emma was pulled out of a damn cult three months ago. Give the girl some time.” 

“I know, I know,” Dean swallows, “It’s just _hard_ , Ellen. My new anti-depressants suck. I’m being a complete ass to Cas. Even lashed out at Benny and she can tell I’m not okay and she needs me fighting fit and I’m just… I'm so in love with her but I'm terrified I'm doing everything wrong and it's making me crazy. It's adding to my crazy. I'm a damn crazy sandwich.” 

He’s pretty sure he’s never talked about his depression to Ellen before, but he’s too exhausted to care. He’ll freak out about that when he’s got enough brain cells left to spare on it. 

“Welcome to parenthood, Dean.” 

“I take back every damn thing I’ve ever said about Dad,” Dean says, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Holy hell, Ellen, you hand me another kid and take Cas away and I’m… yeah, I’m fucked.” 

“You’re doing okay, kid,”

“The house is a mess. None of us have slept for days. I’ve got fifteen unanswered calls from Sam. The adoption people are coming to check up on is in a couple of weeks and I haven’t got a damn clue how I’m supposed to pull this around. Made some progress with Emma, now she’s sliding back. I dunno what the hell I’m even doing. Can’t handle a regular kid, let alone a kid like _Emma_ and she’s gonna grow up and hate me and, damnit, I just –“

“ – Dean Winchester, you want me to come help you out you just say so. You skip the foreplay and straight up ask.”

“Ellen,” Dean says, “Please save me.”

“We’ll drive up tomorrow,” Ellen says, “Now get some fucking sleep.”

“Hello Dean,” Cas mutters, after Ellen’s hung up on him and Dean’s left staring up at the ceiling. He’s not properly crying as much as there’s just tears leaking out of his eyes (different, as far as Dean’s concerned), but it’s still pretty humiliating. Cas has seen him worse, but still.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Dean returns, turning his head so he can look at him. Cas, frankly, has looked better. He’s exhausted too. It’s not just Dean that’s struggling with this.

“I’m glad,” Cas says, dislodging one of his hands to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I’ve missed you,”

“Right back at you, sweetheart.”

“I love you,”

“Yeah, you too, Cas,” Dean says, stretching his neck to kiss him. They haven’t properly done that for a while. They don’t now, either, because Emma’s still asleep with one hand bawled up in Cas’ shirt, but the quick, brief thing is still nice. “I’ve been a dick.”

“You’re very tired.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, closing his eyes and leaning into Cas’ touch, “Man, I am exhausted. I knew this was gonna be hard work, but this is… it’s fucking ridiculous, dude. I wish you weren’t back at work.”

“Me too,”

“Anything you can do?” 

“I don’t think so,” Cas sighs, “Not without meaning we’re unable to pay for reasonable childcare when your paternity leave is over.” 

“Fuck,” Dean says, “We should get her in her baby bed thing. We’re supposed to be strict about that or something. I dunno, but I do know you can’t sleep on the sofa.”

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t fit, jackass, and I wanna cuddle.”

“That sounds nice,” Cas says, then glances down at Emma, “Do you want to wake the beast?”

“You pick her up and put her down before she’s realised what’s happening. Like the tablecloth trick.”

“Our daughter isn’t a tablecloth,”

“Cas, I’m burning my last inch of optimism here. Work with me,” Dean says, as Cas leans forward to kiss him again. “Quick, painless, tearless. And I’ve slept on you before, dude, and you’re not as comfortable as her cot.”

“She feels safer when we’re there. It’s a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Her feeling like she can cry when things are up is a good thing too, doesn’t mean it doesn’t make my ears bleed.”

“Terrible twos,”

“Cas, come on. I need you to fucking hold me before I fall apart.”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, sitting up slowly, then picking Emma up. She whimpers slightly, but still seems content enough. Half of the guy’s buttons are undone. He’s got a smudge of what looks like tomato sauce on the bottom of his shirt. Cas has never looked as ruffled as he does since this fatherhood gig. Cas holds her like she’s this precious, breakable thing as he heads towards the stairs, and it makes Dean love him even more. Dean didn’t know that was possible.

It goes better than expected. The tricky bit is getting her to loosen her hold on Cas’ shirt. Dean’s nearly tempted to suggest the guy just gives her the damn shirt, but buttons are a choking habit, and Emma really likes putting crap in her mouth. She started that later than most kids, apparently, because of the whole trauma business. Still, they dislodge her, she whimpers a bit, but she grabs hold of the hideous Bunny thing Garth bought them instead and… yeah, she’s still asleep.

“What time is it?”

“It’s like 8PM,” Dean says, “But it’s definitely bedtime.”

Ten minutes later, he’s got Cas’ arms wrapped around his middle and it’s glorious. Neither of them have eaten, Dean’s pretty sure. He didn’t even find ten frigging minutes to shower today, so he’s kind of gross. Cas just curls in tighter and presses a kiss against the back of Dean’s neck.

Emma starts crying at 8:23. At 00:32, Dean drags her fucking crib into their bedroom whilst Cas tries to reassure that they’re _not_ leaving her, that she isn’t going back to the bad place, that they love her and no one’s going to hurt her anymore. 

It’s a long night.

*

Ellen and Bobby arrive about sixteen hours after his distress phone call, during which time Dean hasn’t slept, has eaten three rounds of toast and drank six cups of slightly lukewarm coffee (Emma has flailing limbs and is a lot more mobile than she lets on. In fact, she’s better at most things than she lets on. She barely speaks, barely crawls and definitely never walks, when Dean knows for a fact that she can do all of those things. The child psychiatrist she sees twice a week has reassured him that she’ll definitely catch up in time). Cas is back at work and Dean doesn’t have a damn clue how he’s managed it, because Dean is definitely not fit for work right now.

It’s not just Emma’s anxiety that’s increased by Cas being away all day, though. Dean feels six more times on edge without Cas there as back up. Dean’s also beginning to figure it’s the change in routine which is stressing Emma out so much, but then again google says that toddlers are notorious for their temper tantrums. He could just be reading too much into things.

“You look like complete shit,” Bobby says, walking through the front door. “Where’s the kid?”

Dean’s too tried to dredge the words up, so he instead opts for just heading back to the living room. Emma’s cheered up some since last night, so now she’s playing with her blocks in a way that makes her seem like any other toddler. Dean’s pretty sure it doesn’t give an accurate representation of the hell that’s been the last two days straight, but he’s gonna have to deal with it.

“She’s small,”

“Malnutrition. She’s grown a lot with us,” Dean says. It’s Dean’s voice that has her looking up from her blocks, eyes widening in alarm. Dean should have told her they were coming. She doesn’t like new people much and she absolutely hates surprises, but his brain’s too fried for him to have thought that through. “Hey, Emma, this here’s your grandparents.” Emma blinks at him. “They wanna meet you. That okay?”

“Daddy,” Emma says, eyes still apprehensive. She holds her out her arms to be picked up and, okay, that’s fine.

“They’re good people, Emma.” Dean says, plucking her off the floor. She wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face into his skin. 

“She shy?”

“More scarred by people, really. She’ll come round,” Dean says, running a thumb over the crown of her head. “I should’ve warned her. I’m –”

“- doing a good impression of the walking dead?”

“Safe,” Dean finishes, “Emma, princess. You wanna look at me a sec?”

“No,”

“Yep,” Dean says, “Come on, baby.”

“No,”

“I’ll get the coffee,” Bobby says, trudging into the kitchen. 

Twenty minutes later, he’s managed to convince Emma that Ellen and Bobby are okay and ten minutes after that, Emma’s got Bobby wrapped around her little finger. He’s sat on the floor playing with the damn bricks like a pro and Dean both wants to take pictures to catalogue the moment and sleep until next Christmas. Ellen orders him to bed and cleans the kitchen, and it’s sort of miraculous what a couple of hours of sleep can do, because by the time he’s re-emerged his house looks ordered, it looks like Bobby’s done a frigging grocery shop, Emma’s asleep and he doesn’t completely feel like running away when Ellen sits him down with a cup of tea and says the words “so, depression.”

“Started taking meds for it just before the wedding,” Dean says. His voice still sounds flat, but he’s actually got the energy to dredge the words up. “Took ‘em for about six months. Was fine for a while, then things got really shitty. That was eighteen months ago. Was doing okay, or we wouldn’t have… well, if things stayed really bad, we couldn’t have…” Dean’s voice cracks slightly because, yeah, they could not have adopted if he hadn’t gotten better and he can’t handle that. He doesn’t even like thinking about that period of time. “Well,” Dean says, pulling himself back, “It was fine, but now they’re switching up my meds ‘cause you’re not supposed to be on those ones for over year, now my head’s a total mess. The stuff that’s supposed to help is all _get enough sleep_ and _eat well_ and, yeah, that’s damn near impossible. Two more weeks, if I’m lucky. Really don’t need this crap right now.”

“I’ll bet,” Ellen says, calm as anything, “When did Cas go back to work?”

“Two weeks ago,” Dean says, “I’m fucking everything up, Ellen.”

“Seem like every damn other new parent to me,”

“Really?”

“Really,” Ellen says, a hand on his shoulder. “There’s a reason family’s important, kid. No one has a damn clue what they’re doing when it comes to kids. I spent the first three years of Jo’s life on the phone to my Mom. You work it out.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,”

“Thank God,” Dean exhales, “She’s amazing, right?”

“You bet,”

“Smart kid,” Bobby chimes in, which makes Dean’s chest feel weirdly tight because, yeah, she is smart and it _bothers_ him that not every in the world see’s that. The adoption people and even the damn child psychiatrist keep saying her development’s limited and she’s behind, like just cause she doesn’t necessarily communicate all the stuff is going on in her head she’s not intelligent. She’s probably the most emotionally mature toddler ever, even if that’s cause of all the bad stuff she dealt with, it’s still incredible. She’s smart. She’s strong.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “She got your names yet? She’s good with names.”

“Bobby’s _grandpa_.”

“Holy crap,” Dean grins, the first one in a while, “You move fast, grandpa.” 

“You said it first, genius,” Bobby comments, but he hasn’t quite managed to tame the smile creeping at the corner of his lips. Bobby’s fucking thrilled. Dean had known that from all the phone calls they’ve had about it, but they settled on a low-key Christmas because Emma was still settling in. They didn’t want to overwhelm her, so she hasn’t met anyone else yet. This is the first time they’ve actually met and Dean’s too tried to actually appreciate it.

Cas gets home, on time, whilst Dean’s watching Bobby try to talk Emma into a game of peek-a-boo, even though Emma’s definitely the less enthusiastic of the two. Ellen’s trying to pretend she’s not taking pictures on her cell phone. There’s food in the oven. Dean’s nursing a coffee and unapologetically taking pictures to send to Sam later and he feels closer to sane than he has for _weeks._

*

When they leave three days later, the meds have started working (with these ones it’s a gradual thing, so he winds up feeling a little better day by day), Dean’s actually slept some and Emma won’t stop talking about Grandpa. 

***

_June, 2028_

Cas’ offices have always been vaguely impressive, as offices go, but Dean’s generally slightly more intimidated now Cas gets his own personal office. It’s squared away by a couple of walls of glass, it’s tiny and he has to leave every time he needs to print anything off, but all the same. 

Emma isn’t intimidated, because his kid daughter regularly put’s Dean to shame. She’s got the familiar wide eyed surprise and the silence that she usually gets when she’s somewhere new, but she’s not _intimidated_ per say. Emma’s got pretty good at new in the past couple of months, along with everything else that’s slowly starting to slot into place.

“We’re going to see Padre, Emma,” Dean tells her, even though he’s told her at least half a dozen times since Dean decided, what the hell, and headed Cas’ way. She’s still pretty reluctant to speak, though, especially in places where she’s less comfortable, and talking to her’s the way to get the conversation going. “You got that, Princess?”

“Dad,” Emma nods, squirming slightly. “Dad work.”

“Yep,” Dean says, “Too much, you ask me. Don’t tell him that though, baby. Our secret?”

“Don’t like secrets,” 

“Alright,” Dean agrees, hitching her up on his hip, “You tell him for me?”

“No,”

“No?” Dean repeats, “Why’s that, Princess?”

“Dad!” Emma says, then her tiny hands are untangled from Dean’s neck and are clapping at him. Cas is glaring at the photocopier like it’s personally offended him, but his disgruntled expression melts into _dad face_ the second he hears Emma’s voice. He turns around and smiles at her, reaching out for her on automatic. 

“Hello, Emma. How are you today?” Cas says, as Dean passes her weight over to him.

Emma’s got her face buried in Cas’ chest in a way that makes her reply utterly intelligible, but Cas makes a ‘hmmm’ like he gets it anyway, because that’s the kind of stuff Cas’ baby books tell him is very important.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean grins, leaning forward to kiss him. It’s an awkward angle with Emma half wedged in the middle, but that’s nothing new. “We were in the neighbourhood.” 

“You… hello, Dean,”

“You seem flustered.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Cas says, then he smiles again, with Emma hugging him tight. Dean kind of wishes he could stop time and live in these kinds of moments, actually, because they’re glorious. They make him so damn happy it scares him.

“Kind of the point of surprising you at work, dude,” Dean grins, “I can wait till you’re on lunch.” 

“Why are you here?”

“Well,” Dean grins, “You might have complained about some chick hitting on you at work all the time, so I figured I’d rock up and nip it in the bud. Don’t sound too pleased to see me, though.”

“You’re wonderful,” Cas says, leaning forward to kiss him again, “If misguided.”

“Never,”

“Where’s the lucky lady, then?”

“Castiel,” Zachariah says, appearing from nowhere like the first class dickwad he’s always been, “You appear to have a small human attached to you. Should I assume this is your cretin?”

“This is my daughter,” Cas says, voice a step above a growl.

“Introduce us,”

“Emma,” Cas says, which gets Emma blinking at the three of them, “This is Zachariah. Zachariah, this is Emma.”

Zachariah leers at her in a way that makes _Dean_ feel like crying, so it’s not all that surprising that Emma starts sniffing in a way that’s definitely a prelude to a full on meltdown.

“Man, I dunno what’s up with her,” Dean says, lips quirking upwards, “She usually has such good taste in people,”

Cas resolutely doesn’t meet his eye.

“Well,” Zachariah says, “May I speak with you a comment, Castiel?”

“Dean,” Cas says, holding Emma back out to him, even if Emma doesn’t seem keen on the idea. Dean would be offended, but Cas during the daytime is somewhat of a novelty. Dean can allow it. “Can you, just…”

“We’ll be right here,” Dean says, smiling. It’s a forced, dangerous thing that he hopes conveys to Zachariah that if he tries to tell Dean he can’t steal his damn husband for one lunchtime then he better deal with the fucking consequences. Zachariah narrows his eyes then nods at him.

“In your office?”

“Fine,” Castiel agrees, pausing to kiss Emma on the forehead, even though he’s back to scary work mode Cas, before heading back towards his office. 

“Bye bye, Dad,” Emma says, waving.

“Dad’s coming back soon,” Dean says, smoothing a hand over her head to calm her hair.

They’ve harvested enough attention that the second Zachariah’s not scaring people away, he has Samandriel and another of Cas’ work colleagues that Dean’s met at least three times but can’t remember the name of, coming to join him at the photocopier to say hello to Emma. It’s a nice gesture, but Emma doesn’t agree and winds up nervously sucking on her thumb.

“Is this Castiel’s daughter?” A voice asks and, bingo.

“Is that the infamous Daphne?” Dean asks, stuffing his voice so full of charm that he almost chokes on it on the way out. “Dean Winchester. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“It’s… yes, Daphne,” She says, visibly flustered. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Dean smiles.

“How old is she?” Daphne asks, and then, “Castiel is very private.” 

“Two and a half,” 

“She’s small,”

“Yeah, this little lady had a bit of a rough start. She’s a few months smaller than she should be.”

“Oh no,” Daphne says, glancing towards where Cas and Zachariah are now in his glass office. Cas has his features arranged into his coolly irritated expression which probably means that Zach is being difficult on purpose, but Cas is fully intending to hold his own. Dean would worry that he’s put Cas in a difficult position, except he still remembers Cas yelling at Zachariah and getting a pay rise out of it. Cas can handle himself. 

“I’m gonna get the guy a coffee. Mind helping me out?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Daphne says, smiling widely in Emma’s direction. He could use a coffee but, more to the point, it keeps Emma away from the others _and_ Dean gets to continue dealing with Cas’ admirer. 

“Lead the way,”

“She’s being very good,” Daphne says, once they’re in the office kitchen and Dean’s remembered the logistics of having a toddler is that he can’t _actually_ make the coffee. Dean hitches her up his hip and spends a few seconds working out how he’s going to do it before Daphne offers him a smile and takes over. 

What everyone interprets as Emma ‘being good’ is generally the side-effects of her being… well, _abused_. She was taught that she’s supposed to be silent and unobtrusive and not have a damn personality. Really, Dean would prefer that she was loud, bossy and entitled all the damn time, because that would mean they’ve loved her enough that the effects of that slipped away but… yeah, she’s a well behaved kid. Especially when they’re places which aren’t their home.

“She's not much of a mover,” Dean says, as Daphne fiddles with the coffee machine and the cups. “She can, she just doesn't want to yet. Thanks, Daphne. Could you just top it up with cold water? Just so if it gets spilt it don't hurt her. Thanks.” 

“And Castiel's too?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Parenthood’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Daphne agrees, “Do you want me to…?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay,” Dean smiles, as they head back out onto the floor. Zachariah’s headed away from Cas’ office, which is probably a good thing. Cas is still in his office, but he doesn’t particularly look happy about it.

“Zachariah says I'm allowed my lunch break now but I'm not allowed to leave,” Cas says, as they approach his office, Daphne just behind with the drinks. 

“Figured he'd act like a dick, so I got lunch in the backpack. Picked up your favourite.”

“Thank you, Daphne,” Cas says, frowning. “I hope Dean didn't coerce you into making coffee,”

“Oh, no,” Daphne says, “I just... wanted to help. You have a lovely husband Castiel.”

“Awh, shucks,” Dean grins, “You'll make me blush.”

“How'd you two meet again?”

“Cas holding his life ransom from you?” Dean says, settling on the edge of Cas’ desk, Emma still bundled into his arms. “We were roommates in college. Four years later we realised neither of us wanted to move out, ever, so we shacked up instead.”

“It seemed logical.”

“That's lovely.” 

“Mhmm.” Dean agrees. “Took him another decade to marry me, though.”

Cas frowns at him. 

“And, Emma...?”

“Adoption finalised bout nine months ago,” Dean smiles, “That right, baby? You became ours nine months ago.” 

“Daddy,” Emma agrees. “Mine. Juice?” 

“All right, kiddo.”

“I should get back. Leave you to it.”

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Daphne. Keep an eye on Cas here for me. Oh, and kick him out of here if he's working late on Friday. He's the worst at remembering date night.”

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, the second his office door has swung shut. He has enough of a smile playing at the corner of his lips that Dean’s absolutely sure that he’s been busted, but then again that was part of the fun of it.

“Dealing with your problem,” 

“By turning up here, with our gorgeous daughter, in that t-shirt, and charming her?”

“You like this t-shirt?” Dean asks, plucking it off his chest and grinning.

"I have made my feelings on that t-shirt clear in a number occasions,” Castiel says, leaning back on his desk chair and reaching out for Emma again.

"Damn right you have," 

"How is you flirting with my colleagues helping me?" 

"Ha, that was tame, sweetheart."

"I know," Cas smiles.

"Well she ain't gonna bother you about you anymore," Dean grins, turning to catch Daphne's eye out the window and winking at her.

"Probably," Cas concedes, scooping Emma back up. She's hitting her exhaustion wall and probably wants to go down for a nap, which partially sucks because it means Cas misses valuable Emma time, but naps are one of the few things that she doesn't have to have a strict routine for. 

"Unless she see's you with Emma. Pretty sure that makes me fall in love with you again every damn time," Dean says, “food?"

“Food?” Emma questions, which pretty much answers that question. Dean drops his backpack off his shoulders to get said food, then passes Cas over the posh sandwich he always gets way in to, before getting out Emma’s designated mush.

“Why are you really here?” Cas asks, after they’ve gone through the usual drama that is getting Emma to eat a reasonable amount of food (clearly, she’s not got the Winchester blood in her veins) and then immediately curled up on Cas lap to sleep, meaning they’d gotten to the point where _they_ can actually eat. Dean makes a face because, damn, is it really that hard to believe he just wanted to see Cas? That he wouldn’t have another motive for the pit stop?

“Chuck said a few of weeks ago we should talk about stopping my meds,” Dean says, “I chucked the suggestion out, straight off, cause of Emma. But, I’ve been thinking…”

“And you want to come off them?”

“It’s been a two year stint, Cas,” Dean frowns, “It was supposed to be a short term solution. The first time was six months. I dunno.”

“It’s up to you,”

“It was bad before, though,” Dean says, glancing at the ceiling. “It was really bad.”

“You could always start taking them again,”

“True,” Dean nods, “But it’d be another six weeks before they kicked in.”

“Hmm,”

“And we have Emma,” 

“An excellent observation,” Cas says, running a hand through Emma’s curls. 

“You pissed that I’m only bringing this up now?” Dean asks, through a mouthful of his own sandwich. He’s still inherently curious about how Cas feels about Dean keeping some of this stuff locked up in his head, because sometimes he’s pretty sure that he would find it difficult to deal with it Cas did the same to him. Cas has such grace for it though. It’s sort of awesome.

“Dean,” Cas says, “You told me where your boundaries are. I understand that.”

“Understanding it isn’t loving it, though.”

“No,” Cas agrees, “Nevertheless, that’s unimportant.”

“Dunno about that,” Dean says, “Anyway, if my mood does tank, it’s gonna be up to you to pick up the slack. That’s a lot to ask, man.”

“I don’t care,” Cas says, sincerely enough that Dean just _has_ reach forward and kiss him. It’s a little too public with the glass walls of Cas’ office and Zachariah looking for a reason to act like an asshole, as per the status quo, but he still lets Cas pull him in and deepen the kiss anyway. Cas is wonderful. Cas is the best damn husband ever.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” Dean says, smiling at him. 

“Do,” Cas says, then leans back in his desk chair slightly, careful not to disturb Emma, “This is an excellent sandwich.”

Dean doesn’t know when talking about his mental health crap became something they could leisurely fit in before conversation about Cas’ over interested co-workers and good sandwiches, but Dean’s gotta say that it’s a huge improvement from when every single conversation felt like they were pulling teeth. 

***

_April, 2033_

Claire’s been asleep for a couple of hours, Dean just finished reading Emma her favourite story for the five hundredth time and Cas is looking at him in a way that Dean figures means he’s _definitely_ going to get lucky. The way Cas is eyeing him – like Dean isn’t forty, exhausted, a few days past his facial hair prime and a few years past his physique prime, but like he’s the guy’s personal fantasies suddenly walking and talking– is enough to kick Dean’s imagination into gear, till they’re just looking at each other in the kitchen with these stupid smiles, because one way or another Dean’s probably going to be butt naked and begging for it within the next twenty minutes. He can just _tell_ by the deliberate way that Cas is holding his glass of wine and his blue, blue gaze. 

“Come on then, hotstuff,” Dean says, after a few more seconds of staring. He likes this stuff. He never really got the whole _foreplay_ thing before Cas, but now the idea of not understanding or engaging in it is completely alien. Half the fun of sex is the anticipation, anyway, especially now actually finding the time to screw is kind of miraculous. Claire sleeps a little better now she’s three, but assuming that Dean-and-Cas time starts at Emma’s bedtime is unreasonably optimistic. Cas sets down his wine glass. 

Then the damn phone rings and, crap, it’s _Sam’s_ ringtone.

“Call him back tomorrow, Dean,” Cas says, voice low gravel and concentrated sex appeal and that’s _definitely_ an order. One he really wants to follow, too, but… Sam’s nearly two months into being a fucking father and Dean doesn’t really know what to do. He hasn’t made a decision one way or the other when it rings out, and Dean figures that’s decision made… and then _Cas’_ phone rings.

“It’s Sam,” Cas says, after he’s dug the phone out of his pocket.

“Hold that thought,” Dean says, as Cas passes him the phone. He doesn’t look pissed, which is good, even though Dean’s pretty sure they’re both a little disappointed. Still, Sam wouldn’t call them _both_ unless it was somehow important. “Batman speaking,”

“Dean,” Sam says, in a way that makes his name sound more like a sob than a word. Robbie’s crying pretty loudly in the background, too, and yeah Dean does not miss having a baby around. Really. He wouldn't trade in a single second of it, but he's so glad it's over.

“Woah, Sammy,” Dean says, turning away from Cas, who still looks so damn promising that it’s difficult to concentrate, but then again Sam is actually _upset_ on the other end of the phone and it’s kind of difficult to ignore that. “What’s up?”

“Jess,”

“She okay?” Dean asks, voice sharp.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I mean, kind of. I knew she was _struggling_ , but she had a check-up today after the complications and she… they’re saying she has postnatal depression.”

“Uhuh,” Dean says, leaning against the kitchen counter and frowning. Adopting wasn’t exactly an easy process for them, but then Sam and Jess haven’t had an easy ride of _trying for a baby_ themselves. It only took eighteen months, but it felt like a hell of a lot longer, and Dean got far too much information about ovulation and crap for his liking. 

“That’s pretty early to catch it. She getting good help?”

“She’s got another appointment tomorrow,” Sam says, but his voice is still verging on the edge of emotional panic and Dean can't quite pin down why.

“Dean, Robbie’s been crying for _three hours_ and Jess can’t… she can’t deal with him right now, but I don’t know what I’m doing. She doesn’t want to breast feed, but he won’t take to the bottle. He hasn’t _slept_. I’m supposed to be back to work next week and I don’t know what I’m going to do, Dean. I don’t know how to help. He’s so fucking small.”

“Yeah, Sam, babies are small,” Dean says, “I’m putting you on speaker.”

“He won’t eat and the house is a mess and _babies need so much stuff_ and Jess just went to bed after we got back from the hospital. She hasn’t slept for weeks, but Robbie doesn’t want me and I don’t… Dean, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going to _break_ him and Jess is going to –”

“– woah, Sammy, hold up,” Dean says, “You are not going to break him. Okay? Kids are pretty resilient. That’s how they survive most first time parents.”

“Dean, not helping.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “Jess is going to be okay, Sam. Depression is bitch. Reckon postnatal depression is probably even worst, but it is an _illness_ and it is _curable_. May take a little while, but she’ll get there.”

“I know,”

“So, right now, you need to concentrate on Robbie. Forget the fact that the house is a mess. Can you take more leave?”

“I… I can try.”

“Call your boss in the morning, explain him the situation. If he doesn’t understand, he’s a fucking bastard and you should quit.”

“You should,” Cas agrees, leaning into Dean’s side.

“You sure he’s hungry?” Dean asks.

“Why else would he be screaming?”

“You want a list?” Dean asks. “He tired? Need winding? Dirty nappy?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says and, fucking hell, he sounds teary, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one knows what they’re doing,” Dean says, “Put him down for like… half a minute, see if he stops crying. If he doesn’t, we try the next thing. Okay, Sam?”

“Okay,” Sam says, then there’s a sniff, then there’s some shuffling. The dulcet tones of Dean’s nephew gets louder for a few seconds before it gets quieter, then there’s another few seconds of Sam breathing, and then… quiet. “He’s stopped crying. Holy shit, Dean, he’s stopped crying.”

“Hallelujah,” Dean says, then his little brother stars frigging _sobbing_ down the other end of the phone. “ _Dude_.”

“Dean,” Cas chastises, “You remember the first few months we had Emma.”

Oh, yeah, that was…. Probably the most stressful period of his life.

“Have _you_ eaten?”

“No,” Sam says, his voice still thick with tears (Sam didn’t frigging cry at their Dad’s funeral, which means the last time Dean saw him cry was when he was like _twelve_ which barely counts). 

“Jess?” Cas asks.

“No,”

“Go ask the girl if she wants some take out,” Dean says, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam agrees. Sam has pretty much never taken orders from him without a little backchat so this is… weird. “I’ll just… give me a minute.”

“Okay,” Dean says, then turns to Cas, swallowing. “Cas, I need to fly out there.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, because Cas is the most understanding, wonderful fucking husband on the whole planet. He’s not even _surprised_ that Dean’s suggesting it. The guy’s already taken Dean’s phone out of his pocket and is googling flights to San Francisco. 

“You have a few days leave left.”

“More kids is the exact opposite of what they need right now.”

“Emma would not stand for a last minute holiday,” Cas agrees, “Besides, she has school.” 

“You, uh… you don’t mind?”

“Dean, your brother just cried down the phone. I am under no illusions about how that must make you feel. I also know that we’re your top priority, but we can spare you for a few days.”

“Just a few,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss him.

“Jess doesn’t want anything,” Sam says, back on the phone and sounding a little broken by this fact.

“She might later,” Dean says, “Order her something anyway.”

“You hate it when I do that,” Cas cuts in which, yeah, is true. It makes him feel like he’s being patronised, but then again he usually does eat the leftovers eventually. It’s just a matter of principle. 

“Sam, I’m gonna call my boss and see how soon I can come visit, okay?”

“Visit?”

“Just me,” Dean says, “Give you a chance to get some sleep. Take the pressure off.”

Sam starts crying again. 

By the time Dean’s talked Sam into actually ordering the take out, showering, eating and another Robbie related meltdown, it’s way past a time that would feasibly leave them enough time for sleep and sex. 

*

He'd been planning to give Sam a lecture on the fact that just because he has some kind of depression doesn't mean he's a damn expert on every related mental health issue. He's known a couple of people with the same diagnosis as him who don't make any sense to him and, hell, even if he wasn an expert, he's still not a therapist. A lot of his resolve was worn away by the plane ride, until it settled into just vague irritation about it. Then he knocked on Sam's front door, heard the answering wails of a new born baby and realised that probably wasn't why Sam called him in the first place.

Dean's pretty sure he didn't look as awful as his little brother does when he opens the door right after adopting Emma, but he's sure Ellen and Bobby might disagree. Still, Sam's got the full works: bags, red eyes, hair sticking up every which way, red faced screaming eight week old kid in his arms.

"Dean," Sam breathes, "help me,"

Then Dean's got the screaming bundle in his arms before he can muster up a 'hello, Sammy.'

"Hello, buddy," Dean says, holding him up to look him in the eye, which surprises him enough that he chokes on one of sobs, swallows, then blinks.

"What's up, huh?"

It turns out the kid just needs winding. Twenty minutes later, he's got Sam sat down in the kitchen, Robbie's awake but content in his downstairs cot, and Dean's trying to explain babies to his kid brother.

"Look, Sam, babies are simple. Think aliens channelled down into tiny little bodies. They don't know what the fuck is happening. The space travel's got their wires crossed. They've got no understanding or context, just input and a lot of emotions. So, they don't like any kinda input, they cry. Think of anything that's made you uncomfortable. Bright lights, needing to piss, being tired, something hurts, you can't sleep, you're hungry. That's gonna make him cry. None of the obvious things fit, think lonely, think confused. Then you fix whatever’s making him uncomfortable. The only other things babies do are crap and stare at things. Give him time to process.”

“Dean,” A voice says, then Dean’s got his bad ass sister in law wandering into the kitchen. She sounds okay. Dean’s pretty sure he’s never seen her look so… weary, but she looks pretty good, considering. Dean’s never produced an actual human and birthed it, but he’s heard it’s pretty exhausting.

“Jess,” Dean beams, then he’s up and got her pulled into a hug. She settles in it for longer than she usually does, but then she’s pulling back, rearranging her features and her smile. 

“What’s this about aliens?”

“Babies are aliens,” Sam says, “Hey, Jess. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jess snaps and, oh yeah, that’s familiar. “Quit bugging me, Sam. Survived the flight, Dean?”

“Barely,” Dean says. Jess and Sam are having a silent conversation that way that married people do, which is kind of brilliant, because Dean’s wanted Sam to have that for years and years. Still, Dean definitely feels like he’s intruding, which is still … weird. “I’m gonna check in with Cas,” Dean declares, then heads into Sam’s sitting room to be out of their way. God knows he remembers how shaken up their relationship was when Cas first bought up the depression thing.

Cas flips him over to video call the second he answers, probably because Cas has got Claire sat on his lap and she’s smiling toothily at him. She’s got the cutest damn curls. She looks like a goddamn angel when she’s not throwing a tantrum. "Daaaddddyyyy!" Claire yells at the phone screen, which is cute even though he was going for subtly not rubbing his current domestic bliss in Sam and Jess' faces, and Claire's totally bust his cover. "Hey Claire Bear," Dean grins, then he's waving back like a chump. "You looking after your Padre for me?"

"Daddy come home,"

"Soon,"

"What?"

"What?" Dean repeats.

"No," Claire says, shaking her head emphatically. "What soon?"

"How soon," Emma corrects.

"Cut your sister some grammatical slack, Princess, she's only three."

" _How_ soon?"

"Three days,"

"No," Claire says. "No. Daddy home now?"

"How's uncle Sam and Auntie Jess?" Emma asks, coming into view on the other side of the screen, expression serious as usual. 

"Tired."

"Because of the baby?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Daddy,"

"Claire," Emma says, running a hand through Claire's curls. "Uncle Sam needs Daddy because Uncle Sam is very tired and he's Daddy's brother."

"Oh," Claire says, then "Okay. But home soon."

"You bet it, Claire bear."

"Can we say hello to Uncle Sam and auntie Jess?"

"Hii,"

"They might be too tired, Emma." Cas says, "Having a baby is very tiring."

"Hey, Emma," Jess says, suddenly behind him. She’s bright and chirper as she makes a space on the sofa next to Dean and waves.

"Wow you do look tired Auntie Jess,"

"Everyone's a critic, huh?" Dean says, turning to offer her an apologetic smile.

"You still look very beautiful."

"Hiiii," Claire says, waving again.

"Hi Claire, thanks Emma."

"Hey guys," Sam says, ducking into the frame.

"Can we meet Robbie please?"

"He's sleeping, pumpkin."

"Oh," Emma says.

"We better go eat," Dean says, "You be good for your Dad, folks, or I'll be hearing about it."

"I love you," Emma says, very solemn. 

"You too, baby."

"Me." Claire says.

"Yep," Dean agrees.

"Me," Cas adds, smirking at him.

"I'm hanging up on you, buttmunch."

"Dadddyyyyy!"

"Come on, I was behaving."

"Do you want Claire to copy you?" Emma asks, hand on hip. His daughter’s seven and she’s already calling him out on his bad behaviour. She’s going to be worse than Cas.

"All right, all right. I'm hanging up on you all. Speak tomorrow,” Dean says, offering another wave before he hangs up. He texts Cas the word _asshole_ and Cas texts back with _Emma would not approve_ and, really, what is his life.

"How the hell d'you manage it?" Jess asks, flopping down on the sofa next to him.

"It gets easier. Don't worry, folks. You too will sleep again."

"You make it look so idyllic."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm so sleep deprived, we haven't been on a date for like three months, I dunno when we last had sex, but I do know it was a rushed job."

"I don't even want to think about sex right now,"

"That the depression or the recent childbirth talking?"

"The latter," Jess says, "though that's a point. Did Sam invite you cause you have kids or cause you have depression?"

"I settled on a slightly offensive mix of the two."

"I didn't _invite you_ -"

"You called when you were stressed out and upset. With your brother I think you know it amounts to the same thing."

"Listen to the wise lady," Dean says.

"You must think we're such wusses." Jess says, curling in on herself. 

"You kidding? Our first kid came mostly potty trained, with use of the English language and a motley crew of support workers."

"And she was traumatised, with trust issues and emotional baggage."

"Three weeks after Cas went back to work I wound up calling Ellen in such a state that they drove up the next morning. Believe me, this is normal. Now get the hell to bed both of you. I'll hold the fort."

"Dean," Sam exhales. He looks dead on his feet. Jess too. 

"Bed. Now."

* 

Robbie's actually a fairly easy going kid. He doesn't like being held much and he's got a strong pair of lungs on him, but Dean was kind of expecting a fussy, colicky baby from hell, when in general he's pretty good. He probably misses Jess, who Dean actually hasn't seen him hold him since he touched down, but he likes Sam too and his unperturbed by Dean coming into the picture. He lets Dean change his nappies and put him down to sleep without giving much of a shit about anything, which means by the end of the evening he’s actually managed to tidy up, cook some food that didn’t come from a takeout and order a couple of things that helped with Claire. He does a grocery shop too, specifically with the kind of healthy crap that Jess probably needs if she does decide to breastfeed, and because Sam likes that crap.

Neither of them resurface until the next day, then it’s only Sam, who looks so fucking grateful that Dean’s up and doing laundry that he nearly starts crying again. 

It’s strange how good it feels to be the one helping Sam out and has him replaying Cas’ insistence that Sam _needs him_ over and over.

*

Four days later, Cas brings the whole clan to the airport in the Impala to pick him up. He gets flash mobbed by Claire and Emma straight out the departure gate and, damnit, he’s never been away from his kids _ever_ before. It’s good that they’re at a point where he can go away, but it’s fucking crazy how much he’s missed them. Cas, too, who kisses him, drops the keys to the Impala in his hand and tells him that they’ve got a sitter for tomorrow night. 

Dean’s life is all kinds of awesome. 

*

_November, 2039_

Emma's always been serious, sensitive, kinda solemn, so at first it slips past the net. Usually, she's louder at home, she'll hang out with Claire, she'll laugh - or at least groan - at Dean's jokes. Then, some of that stops. She spends a lot of time in her room. She disengages during meal times. Not completely, but enough that Dean's paternal instincts have twigged that there's something wrong, even if it hasn't fully formed into a conscious thought yet. 

He'd maybe almost barged into her room straight after knocking on purpose. It's the kind of thing that usually just wins him a lecture on respecting boundaries. She's got her t-shirt rolled up to her waist, but yanks it down when Dean comes barrelling in. Not before he catches a glimpse of well... _something_. Instead of the largely passive glare he gets, she throws herself off her covers, storms passed him and practically runs to the bathroom with a "How hard is it to knock?"

Dean stays frozen in the doorway for a few seconds before the thought sinks in. It scares him to the bones, but it makes sense and...

"Sorry, Emma," Dean says, following her and tapping on the bathroom door. He doesn't get an answer. He needs time to think, anyway, and... process. Talk to Cas. Work out a plan of attack. 

"Should've known you'd be camped out in here," Dean comments, after a tour of the house finds Cas in their (Cas') study. It's not really fair. The guy has a big project on at work - the first for a while - but for the most part Cas has become super diligent about restricting how many hours he spends being Zachariah's bitch.

"You're snapping at me," Cas frowns, "What's happened?"

"Emma,"

"I heard a door slam."

"Right," Dean says, "That. That happened."

"What did you do?"

"What did I do?" Dean asks, "Well, shit Cas, that became my fault fast." Cas just gives him a look. "I walked in without knocking."

"Dean, she's a teenage girl."

"Yeah," Dean says, "that's a whatever. Bang to rights. She can snap at me for that it's...” Dean swallows, leans against the side of the desk. “I think she's been self-harming."

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you think that?” Cas asks, expression completely impassive. Dean’s stomach turned icey the second he barged into Emma’s room, so he can understand where Cas is coming from, but… still. He could do with something, here.

“Because I burst into her room and I saw?”

“You saw her self-harming?”

“I saw her stomach.” 

“Oh,” Cas says, “Did you burst in on purpose?”

“I didn't purposefully not burst in,”

“Dean,”

“I figured something was up. Didn't know what. She's been... tired a lot,” Dean says, then he’s back to raking over the past few weeks, but this time breaking down every single conversation he’s had with Emma about anything.

“She's just started high school.”

“A few months ago,” Dean says. “You don't cut yourself up if you're feeling okay about yourself.”

“No,”

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, because… because the expressionless thing is beginning to freak him out a little bit. He’d have thought Cas would have snapped into action by now. Come up with some kind of solution. 

“Yes, I'm just... I don't want you to be right.”

“Well, me neither,” Dean says, “but I'm not... surprised. Kids been through a lot. Feel like I've waiting for the other shoe to drop for twelve years. Should've kept her in kid therapy longer.”

“Dean,”

“Right, no, blame isn't important right now. Or at all.”

“Does she know that you saw?”

“Uh, yeah. Reckon so,” Dean says, “She high tailed it out of there pretty fast.”

“We should talk to her now,” 

“United front?” Dean asks, leaning against the edge of Cas’ desk so it’s easier to run a thumb over Cas’ clenched fists.

“Yes,”

“Can I take the lead on this one? I mean, that wasn't my method of choice but if feel like l... I get it. I get _why_. Not saying you don't, I just...”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, standing up to kiss him. “You're wonderful.”

“You’re stalling,” Dean throws back, “But thanks,”

Emma’s not in the bathroom when they head back upstairs, which means she’s almost definitely camping out in her room instead. She probably though Dean’s tapping-on-the-door efforts was the lot, which… no. They can’t exactly ignore it.

“Emma, can I come in?” He doesn't get an answer, but opens the door anyway. She's in bed with her arms folded. She looks like she's being crying.

"Both of you," Emma says, "Great." Then the waterworks are starting again. Emma crying about something that isn't scraping her knee still breaks his damn heart, but… damn. “Do you have to do this?” Emma asks, as Dean crosses the room and sits on the edge of Emma’s bed, Cas following suit but from the other direction. 

“Sorry, Princess,” Dean says, as Emma leans into Cas’ side, tears still flowing. “It’s in the parent handbook. Who am I to argue?”

“You’re not _funny_.”

Okay, off the mark. Regroup. 

“So,” Dean says, swallowing, “Your Dad self-diagnosed me with depression, like, the second week we met, because he’s a self-righteous asshole. He was also pretty dead on the mark. We didn’t actually _talk_ about it till right before we got married, though, by which point I didn’t even know how the fuck to talk about it. Just new that some days I woke up feeling like my internal organs had been carved out by a blunt instrument. Been on… what, four different anti-depressants since then?”

“Five,” Cas corrects. 

“Right, five,” Dean says. Emma’s still leaning on Cas’ arm, but she’s looking at him. “Then these anti-anxiety meds once, but that was… well, I don’t think I needed them. Not taking anything right now and I haven’t for, eighteen months, maybe, but I probably will wind up back on them again at some point which sucks but I’ve made peace with it. Mostly. They help. Therapy. Therapy’s crap, but it really helps.”

“I didn’t know that,”

“Well,” Dean says, “I don’t talk about it much. Me and your Dad struck up a deal that I set the boundaries. If there’s stuff he needs to know, then I tell him. Sometimes I wanna talk about it. Other times, I’d rather hash it out with my therapist and keep it away from Cas. Now, I dunno how you’re feeling, Emma. You’ve seemed kind of low to me and I’m guessing it’s not great from… from what I saw, but I could be way off the mark.” Emma swallows and looks away from him. “But, I want you to talk to someone about it. An adult. Me, your Dad, a doctor, a teacher… hell, Jess or Sam if you want. Just, someone. We won’t be offended about who you pick, okay? Whatever’s best for you. Then we can work out a way forward.”

“I don’t _want_ to be doing it,” Emma says, eyes fixed on the ceiling, “It just…it helps. It’s like, I’m angry, or like you said… with your insides, and I know it will switch me back to neutral. Then I feel flat but… but flat isn’t _desperate_.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “You know, Emma… there’s not a damn thought in your head that I don’t care about. Any feeling. Even if it’s one that just happened and you have no idea why it happened, you can still talk to us about.”

“I just…” Emma sits up slightly, wrings her hand, “You try so hard to make us happy. And I’m not. I didn’t want you to think it was your fault.”

“Emma,” Cas says, gentle and low, “Don’t worry about that,”

“But you do everything right. It’s just _me_.”

“I feel like that too sometimes,” Dean says, “Cas always sets me straight. Sometimes stuff like this isn’t anyone’s fault. It just happens. We know that, Princess. Just like it’s not yours and Claire’s fault when I get depressed.”

“I assure you, Emma, in the nearly thirty years in which I have known your father, I have never once considered his depressed periods to be my fault. I’ve worried incessantly about how to best help, yes, but I have never blamed myself.”

“Okay,” Emma says, swallowing, “Okay. Can I… think about it?”

“Of course,” Cas says.

“Would you, uh… we could watch something on my laptop, or something,” Emma says, which is Winchester for _can you stay_ as far as Dean’s concerned. Frankly, Dean could use some time to think about everything too. He’s not a hundred percent sure he handled it right. He’d really like to call his therapist to get a second opinion, but… yeah, it feels okay. It feels like Emma trusts them. There wasn’t much pressure. Dean knows how much it can knock you for six to have this conversation thrown at you, but hopefully they’ve started the dialogue earlier enough that it won’t be such a shock.

“You bet it, Emma,”

Dean throws an arm over both of their shoulders, Cas gets Emma’s laptop off the floor, Emma curls into his side like she’s still a kid, not fourteen years old and getting older all the damn time. They’ve just put on some dumb show about New Yorkers with a lot of money when Claire wanders in and deposits herself on Castiel’s lap. They swap over to this kid friendly science program which is a little lame, but keeps Claire happy. Anyway, Dean couldn’t care less about what they end up watching when it’s the four of them somehow squashed onto Claire’s single bed, because it’s just _nice_. Even if he knows full well that Cas is overthinking and every so often Emma sniffs, it’s still nice.

And, hell, at least Claire’s still a happy-go-lucky nine year old. Dean’s pretty sure the girl doesn’t know the meaning of the word angst and long may it continue.

***

_April 2045._

The house hasn't been this quiet for two decades, if ever.

Emma is the peacemaker, but there's only so much she can do over the phone and she's not due back to visit from college for another few weeks. Cas has made his feelings on the whole thing pretty clear ("What have we learnt from the past from Claire acting out? There is always a reason”) whilst Dean doesn't care what the damn reason is, because nothing is going to make him less pissed that Claire took his fucking car in the middle of the night, without permission to even _drive_ his damn car, ever, a few measly weeks after passing her driving test to mess around with some guy in the back seat. Dean hadn’t even heard of the guy till he was on the phone to the guy's mother, informing her that Cas would be dropping her kid back off at his house very shortly. Its not, as Cas tried to argue, Claire aimlessly acting out because of some extraneous angst, it's _personal_ and Dean's pretty sure she meant it to be personal. Anyway, that was Friday night, and now it's Thursday and no one's spoken since Dean grounded her and told her she had zero chance of ever being allowed to drive again, which had gone down about as well as could be expected.

Thursday’s also _family_ night, which is supposed to mean a video-calling date with Emma to watch crap reality TV and a takeaway, but is actually Claire hiding in her room, Cas camping out in his office and Dean sulking in the kitchen. 

At least until Cas emerges from the study looking a little confused.

“What?”

“I received an intriguing text message,” Cas says, “Hello, Dean.”

“Huh. Someone in this house is actually talking to me then.”

“Of course I’m talking to you,” Cas says frowning, “I disagree with your methods on this occasion, but I am _on your side_ , Dean. If you weren’t so upset you’d see that.”

“Whatever,”

“Although,” Cas says, heading one of the kitchen cupboards, “Your company certainly hasn’t been as enjoyable as usual.”

“Blow me, Cas.”

“Do you want some wine?”

“Who _are_ you?”

“Or a beer,” Cas says, rolling his eyes.

“No,” Dean says, “Wine’s fine.”

“You’re pouting,” Cas says, bringing the bottle to the table along with two wine glasses. “Do you think you’d be _happier_ if you discussed why you’re upset with Claire?”

“Man, she’s smart. She knows why I’m ‘upset’ it’s because she stole my fucking car, broke my trust, put herself in danger and acted like some reckless, selfish kid, which she’s not.”

“She is sixteen,” Cas says, evenly. “I highly doubt she was considering your emotional attachment to Baby. I think it’s likely she was thinking that your car would impress the teenager she snuck out with, that she would bring her back, unharmed, before either of us realised she wasn’t in bed.”

“Cas, she _stole my car_.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas says, the corners of his lips tilting up slightly. “But I think you’ve punished her sufficiently. You need to talk to her.”

“I know,” Dean says, taking his wine, “I just… damnit, I thought she’d have apologised by now.”

“I don’t think she took you grounding her very graciously,” Cas says, then looks up because, speak of the devil, Claire’s stood in the doorway. She’s got her arms folded and she doesn’t particularly look like she wants’ to be there, but then again Claire’s about as stubborn as Dean is sometimes. That’s why this has been dragged out for so long.

“Emma says that your stupid car is, like, the last relic of your Mom and Dad and that you basically used to live in it and that I have to apologise. So, sorry. I am _so_ sorry you care more about your stupid car than talking to your children.”

“I take it back about wanting an apology,” Dean says to Cas, who’s eyebrows have shot up his forehead. “Given that was _the_ worst apology of all time." 

“Fuck you,”

“Claire Winchester-Novak,” Cas says, in his special angry-Dad voice.

“Novak-Winchester,” Claire corrects and, fucking hell, if that doesn’t feel like a slap to the face.

“I _told_ you it was personal,”

“What do you mean that your father cares more about his car than talking to his children, Claire?”

“He’s taking the same stupid pills as my suicidal mother and he didn’t even _tell_ us. I found them.” Claire says, voice cracking half way through the sentence, throwing it into the room like it’s some kind of weapon. It’s not what he’s expecting her to say in the slightest, but it’s also not really the explanation Cas had promised him it would be because… because it had never even occurred to him that him being on his stupid anti-depressants would be something that would _upset_ Claire. He certainly doesn't think it’s an offence worthy of having his car stolen and an offhand comment about demoting his surname. 

“They’re not _hidden_ ,” Dean snaps back, because he and Claire are the absolute worst when it comes to arguments. 

“Both of you sit down and stop acting like children,” Cas says, in that way that makes it impossible to argue with him. “Claire. Dean. Sit.”

“We’re not dogs,” Claire mutters, but she sits anyway. Dean sits down too and tries to real back in the angry, hurt part of himself that’s making it easy to forget that he’s the _parent_ here, which means he has to be the reasonable one. Actually, fuck reasonable, because Dean’s pretty sure he is being _reasonable_. He has to be the understanding, gracious, mature one.

“Firstly,” Cas says, “Claire, if you have an issue to raise with either of us you _raise that issue_. You do not purposefully act out to hurt someone, ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Claire says, arms folded, not meeting either of their eyes.

“Dean, your passive aggressive bullshit is not helping. You are an adult. Act like one.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, with a mock salute. Cas’ eyes narrow slightly, but Claire catches his eyes and looks like she might want to smile. She doesn’t, but her gaze is a little less hostile. 

“Unless your father has been taking some other medication, I assume the ‘stupid pills’ you’re referring to are anti-depressants,” Cas says. Claire nods at that. “Dean,” Cas says, in a way that’s an invitation to elaborate.

“Uh, so, I get depressed. End story.”

“Dean,”

“Cas, I can’t talk about this when I feel like I’m being interrogated. I get that you’re trying help, but you can’t put me in a damn pressure cooker than expect me to spill my soul on tap,” Dean snaps, then looks at his hands, because this isn’t about him. It’s about Claire. It’s just… hard. Dean takes a breath. Tries to push himself out of this enough that he can just talk. “It’s not because I’m not happy. May not seem like much to you, but this is pretty much my dream life. I just… also get depressed sometimes. It happens. It’s not a secret, Claire. It just didn’t come up.”

“How long?”

“Uh, been on and off taking anti-depressants for like over twenty years. It’s just part of our lives. I manage it.”

“You _manage_ it?”

“Yeah, like, I’ve done a bunch of crap in therapy about how to recognise when it’s gonna happen, then I use exercise and stuff most of the time. Then when it gets beyond that point, I take the meds till I figure I can manage without again. Claire, I’m okay. It’s not important because it’s not an issue,”

“What’s the worst it’s been?” Claire asks, arms still folded over her chest. She sounds more… apprehensive than pissed off though, and now his brain’s catching up with the comment about Amelia being suicidal. That doesn’t surprise him, especially, because Amelia’s always been volatile and depressed. She lost a lot through her drug addiction. Dean doesn’t particularly like the fact that Claire knows about it (personally, he would like to protect her from everything), but he can understand how that might make her _scared_. Dean can understand why Claire finding his anti-depressants unexpectedly might shake her up. He cannot understand why she thought the correct way to deal with that was to take his car, but that’s not the current conversation on the table. Right now, he has the opportunity to deal with the Claire who suddenly feels like their reality is unstable. 

“Before we adopted your sister we were, well, we were halfway through the adoption process when it fell through,”

“What?”

“We had a lot of difficulty adopting,” Cas says, “We first filed an application in 2020. This was 2026. In retrospect, I think we both knew it wasn’t _right_ , but at the time we were just pleased we were finally getting somewhere. The woman whose daughter we were intending to adopt was fifteen and extremely vulnerable. She was fully intending to sign the papers on the condition that she’d still be able to see her daughter, when her parents told her they’d cut her off if they allowed a homosexual couple to adopt their grandchild.”

“Man that sucked,” Dean says, “Anyway, that screwed me up pretty bad. Amara, this pregnant kid, well, she got in my head. I dunno, it’s hard to explain but… after that, yeah, that was pretty awful. I took some time off work, which was probably a mistake. There’s this one day that I just… I wanted to give up so bad. I was exhausted. I don’t even know what I meant by giving up, but then Cas came home and I felt so guilty I could barely breathe. Day after I booked another therapy appointment.” Dean says, “That was the first time I went back to therapy after the first period. Ever since, I’ve taken the whole thing a lot more seriously. I keep an eye on it. I know that I can’t go back there, so… I do everything not to. Like, the ‘stupid pills’.” 

“Okay,” Claire says, shoulders bunched up, jaw clenched. 

“Okay,” Cas says, falsely steady, even though that's probably the most explicit Dean's been about that period ever. Cas knew, though. “Claire, can you explain why you were upset that we hadn’t told you this?”

“You always say all this stuff about trust,” Claire says, “But you don’t mean it. You just say it to get us to talk to you. It’s one rule for you and one rule for me and… I didn’t know you were, like… I’ve always thought you were solid and then I thought maybe you weren’t.”

“Claire,” Dean says, looking at her. “This isn’t something you already know just ‘cause we weren’t going to tell you when you were a kid, cause you wouldn’t have understood, and cause it’s never came up in conversation since. It’s not about trust. I promise.”

“Fine,”

“And, seriously, if we ever thought it was going to affect your lives in any way…we’d have told you.”

“Okay,”

“Claire,” Cas continues, “Do you really believe that your father cares more about his car than you or Emma?”

“No,”

“Do you understand that by purposefully acting in a way to upset your father that it’s fairly reasonable for your father to be upset?”

“Will you quit acting like I’m three, Dad? Yes. I get it,” Claire snaps, which makes Dean smile despite himself.

“Dean, do you understand why Claire was upset?”

“Yep,”

“Now, will you both apologise.”

“Sorry, Claire-bear,” Dean says, “Really.”

“Yeah,” Claire nods, “Sorry, Padre.”

“Good,” Cas says, taking a sip of his wine and sitting down next to him. Dean does feel like… a lot better, actually, even if it took Cas patronising them into talking it out. It just… yeah. He doesn’t want to be mad at Claire, really. He wants them to go back to everything being fine and dandy. He’s absolutely still not happy with her decision making processes, but at least he has a little idea of what’s going on in her head.

“Am I still grounded?”

“Definitely,” Dean says which, as far as he’s concerned, is more than reasonable. 

“I agree,” Cas says. 

“Okay,” Claire says, nodding. 

“Although I do want to discuss what you said about your mother being suicidal,” Cas says, the corner of his lips pulling downwards. Some days, Dean wishes Amelia had stayed out of their lives, because _fucking hell_ she has the worst boundaries. From contacting Claire through goddamn social media instead of via them, to the oversharing and all the rest, the woman seems to completely forget that Claire is a _kid_. “She shouldn’t be discussing that with you, Claire. It’s not your responsibility.”

“Yeah,” Claire sighs, brushing one of her blonde braids out of her hair and frowning, “I told her support worker. She’s stopped talking to me about it now.”

“You’re very mature when you want to be, Claire,” Cas says, hand settling on Dean’s knee. It’s a comforting, familiar sort of touch which is probably to compensate for the less than pleasant way that all got dragged to the surface.

“Did Emma text you and tell you to go to the kitchen earlier?” Claire asks.

“Yes,” Cas admits which, yeah, sounds about right.

* 

Dean’s half way through air guitaring his way through the chorus of Girls, Girls, Girls in the kitchen when Claire hits the pause button on the stereo and raises her eyebrows at him. 

“You are so lame,”

“Aw, come on, this is a classic,” Dean says, stopping to turn round to look at her. He didn’t hear her come in from work, probably because he had Motley Crue on really quite loudly.

“When was the last time you even _looked_ at a girl?” Claire asks, then makes a face and says, “Don’t answer that.”

“You wanna help with food?”

“Sure,” Claire says, then pauses, “I didn’t know baby used to belong to your Dad.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “He bought it for my Mom just before they got hitched. Pretty sure she hated it at first.”

“I thought you and your Dad didn’t get along,”

“It was… complicated,” Dean says, pausing to look at her. “My Mom dying screwed him up pretty bad, then he was left with two young kids and his car. Instead of stepping up to the plate, he got pulled into other stuff, some of the flack fell on me. He tried. I idolised the guy up to the point I realise how much he’d decimated my self-esteem. When we packed up and got back on the road, though… it always felt like a new start. Sam would stop whining. We’d play these dumb games the whole way across America,”

“I drove really carefully,” Claire says, quickly. “I love her too. She reminds me of you singing crap songs and childhood road trips and just me and Emma used to mouth along to your bickering... and there's that archaic lego piece stuck that always rattles. I treated her right, I promise, and I won't touch her again.” 

“You want me to reach you how to fix her up at some point?” Dean asks. Honestly, he always figured he would one day. Emma never showed much interest, even if she was sensitive towards his affection towards her. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Claire says, smiling. 

“We gonna hug it out now?” 

“So lame,” Claire says, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. “Thanks, Padre. Where’s Dad?” 

“He sent me an enigmatic text saying he was going to be late home,” Dean says, “So, no idea. You want to take guitar or drums?” 

“Drums,” Claire says, then leans over and flicks the music back on, skipping back to the beginning. She hip bumps him then leans forward to taste the curry Dean’s been cooking, then starts air drumming. Damn, Claire’s a good kid (well, sixteen year old, and fucking hell), and whether he’s ‘lame’ or not, it’s thirty seconds till she’s belting along to Motely Crue with him. 

Cas walks through the door with _Emma_ when they’re halfway through the song. 

“Emma’s on lead vocals,” Dean declares, pulling her into a hug and then mock hand’s her a mic and heading to Cas, “Cas is on the lead guitarist,” Dean says, pulling him close, “Hey, babe.” 

“I’m still not your car,” Cas says, but allows him to kiss him anyway, smiling at him. “I see you’ve made up.” 

“Best friends forever,” Dean says, then gets back into his air guitar moves, because there’s still about thirty seconds of the song left to rock out too. He tries to pull Cas into it, too, but he’s as stiff and awkward as he usually is when Dean tries this kind of thing. “Not that I’m complaining,” Dean says, when the songs finished and he’s hugged Emma again, because _fuck_ does he miss Emma when she’s not around. “But why are you home?”

They’re still adjusting to the new normal where Emma’s not around most of the time and it throws the balance way off. He probably would have sorted it with Claire days ago if Emma had been there, so distraught by the bad atmosphere that she’d have forced them into the argument all ready (and then hidden for cover whilst it was going on).

“I dropped out of college,” Emma says, which is not what he’s expecting her to say. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react, either, so he winds up searching out Cas’ gaze with his mouth slightly open like a first class idiot. Cas has clearly talked to her about this in the car. He probably picked her up.

Holy crap, but parenthood is hard, and it _never_ ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone said they want more Emma and Claire. Then this 12k monstrosity happened. Woops.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do have, know, or interact with any children on a regular basis. I'm sorry that they're so like... well, my main concern is they're all totally wrong for their ages. But. Forgive me?
> 
> Also, MERRY CHRISTMAS


End file.
